


Everything Leads Back To You

by bansheequeen (queenbanshee), xtremeroswellian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alpha Scott McCall, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Banshee Lydia Martin, Because Stiles would NEVER hurt Lydia, But he's worried about both of them, Character Death, Divorce, Domestic Violence, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Ever - Freeform, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Hauntings, He's also a jerk, Hug everyone tbh, Hurt Lydia, Hurt/Comfort, Jackson Whittemore is a jerk, Jackson and Lydia is so problematic, Jackson never left Beacon Hills, Lydia needs a hug, Mentions of Malia Tate/Theo Raeken, Multi, Natalie doesn't like the pack, Not Jackson friendly at ALL, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Post-Nogitsune, Scott Needs A Hug, Scott is a Good Friend, Scott is a Stydia fan, She really doesn't like Stiles, So he has some reservations, Stiles Needs a Hug, Stiles still loves her, Well he did but only briefly, canon character death, emotional tethers, mentions of Theo Raeken, mentions of alan deaton - Freeform, not between the main pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 79,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/bansheequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: Lydia returns to Beacon Hills after a few years away, bringing with her a troubled past. Unbeknownst to her, Stiles has also just returned to town after graduating from George Washington University, bringing back plenty of secrets of his own. With the pack finally reunited, Scott hopes things will fall into place...but things are never as simple as they seem.





	1. Chapter 1

Two weeks since Lydia signed her divorce papers. Two days since she moved back. And her second first day at Beacon Hills High. Most of her isn’t sure this is a good idea at all. Not because she doesn’t think she can do this, she knows she can. But being back in this school… Walking these hallways. Every corner is like a very clear memory, most of them either bittersweet or just plain heart breaking. 

She’s over an hour early. And it’s a good thing, too. Because having a minor break down in her car is going to take some time to get over. Or to ignore as well as she can as the case may be. 

Instead of making her way inside the building, she drives off again. Coffee is a perfect excuse to kill some time before she makes her way into the school. It’s not like there are students there yet. Today is just a meet and greet and talk about her syllabus anyway. 

And maybe she needs tea instead of coffee. 

He doesn’t normally drink coffee, but when he catches sight of her familiar figure from across the street, Scott makes his way toward her, eyes bright as he approaches. “Lydia!” 

Lydia stills when she hears her name. She shifts her sunglasses as she squints a little in his direction. But of course it’s Scott. Her face brightens too as she waves and starts toward him. “Hey.”

He wraps her in a tight hug, closing his eyes. “How are you? I didn’t know you were in town.” He doesn’t let her go just yet.

She hugs him tightly, a soft smile on her lips. And she hates how sensitive and emotional she is right now because she feels herself tearing up slightly. “It’s good to see you,” she says, avoiding his question for now. “How are _you_?”

“It’s good to see you too. You look great.” He reluctantly lets her go so he can look at her. 

Lydia smiles up at him, then nods a little. “Thank you, so do you. Are you-- back for the summer?”

“I’m actually starting my internship here with Deaton,” he admits with a smile of his own. “What about you?” He doesn’t ask about her other half. 

“You are?” Her face brightens and her smile becomes more genuine as she nods. “That’s great, Scott.” The brightness fades slightly as she shrugs her shoulders. “I--hm, I actually just moved back.”

“Yeah? For good? Really?” His own smile widens. “That’s great.” 

“For now,” she answers, because she’s really not sure how things will be from now on. “How is everyone? How’s your mom?”

“Good. She’s good,” he tells her, studying her a little more closely now. “How’s your mom?” 

“She’s good, too.” And Lydia can tell he’s watching her. He’s probably picking up on everything at this point. So she nods toward the coffee shop. “You going in?”

He is, but he treads with caution, instead, choosing to nod and wind his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve got some time before I start this morning.” 

Lydia unconsciously leans into the hug and starts back toward the coffee shop. “Are you starting today?”

“Yeah. I’m a little nervous but...it also feels pretty familiar, you know?” 

“Yeah. But I have no doubt you’ll have no problem there, Scott.” She lowers her voice, smiling softly as she steps into the shop. “You can literally feel what they feel. There’s no better vet.” 

He smiles almost shyly, looking down at the ground for a moment. “Thanks.” He glances at her sideways. “How’ve you been? What brings you back to Beacon Hills?” 

“Well,” she hesitates and looks away, shrugging her shoulders. “Jackson and I aren’t together anymore.” Somehow saying the word ‘divorced’ just feels like too much of a failure for her right now.

He’s silent for a few seconds, but instead of offering condolences, he pulls her to his side a little more tightly. “He’s still in Los Angeles?” 

Lydia frowns a little and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I guess.” He was when she packed her things and left. But she knows he can’t afford their apartment on his own. But then, she also knows he’s not above asking his dad for money. 

Scott nods. “How are you doing with that?” he asks quietly. 

She takes a deep breath that comes out a little shaky. “I’m better here,” she admits quietly, trying for a smile as she glances up at him behind her sunglasses. 

“Yeah.” He gives her a comforting squeeze and presses a kiss to her temple. “Come on. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee as a welcome back. Though I actually am expecting lunch at some point in the near future.” His voice is teasing.

“Definitely,” she says quietly, leaning closer to him and relaxing a little. Because she hasn’t really been around any of them in a long time. And although she and Scott saw each other a couple of times, it was far from the same. It is far from how things used to be. But she knows him well enough to know he means that.

“Good,” he says just as quietly, feeling something within him calm at her familiar presence. A piece of him that hasn’t been calm in a long time. 

***

“Sweetheart? You’re home early!” 

Lydia barely closes the front door when she sees and hears her mom making her way out of the kitchen. She loves her mom and she knows she has helped her a lot, especially in the past few months. But, living back home after everything just feels like she’s a huge failure. Especially when her mom seems to want to do everything for her.

She knows her mom means well, though. So as much as she just wants to lock herself in her room and be alone for a while, she nods and smiles at her in response. “It wasn’t a full class day, just going over my lesson plans.” 

“Well, that’ll change soon enough,” Natalie says cheerfully. “I’m making dinner. And by making dinner I mean I’ve ordered Chinese food.” 

“That sounds good,” she agrees quietly. “I should get changed before it gets here.” 

“Of course, Sweetie. Then you can tell me all about your day.” She kisses Lydia’s forehead and heads toward the dining room to set the table for them.

Lydia hesitates at that, pauses. “I ran into Scott on my way to get coffee this morning,” she offers, placing her purse over the small table by the door. Her mom never pretended not to have issues with Scott and the others, but it’s been a really long time since Lydia brought them up around her. She’s curious about her reaction.

Her mom stiffens, shoulders tensing. “I guess I didn’t realize he was back in town already.” 

Not a good start. “What do you mean already?”

“From --” She waves a hand. “Wherever it is he wound up attending college out of town.” 

“He went to UC Davis. He’s a Veterinarian now,” she adds, arching her eyebrows as she watches her mom closely. “It was nice to see him again. Scott is one of the best people I know.” 

Natalie sighs softly. “He’s a nice boy, Lydia. He always has been. He’s also a werewolf who gets tangled up in a lot of trouble that nearly got you killed.” Her voice is quiet. 

“He’s also saved my life more times than I can count, mom,” she points out, sighing softly. “And I was married to a werewolf, yet Scott being my friend seems to bother you more.” 

“Jackson didn’t get into the amount of trouble that your friend did.” She presses her lips together. “Aside from sophomore year, but that wasn’t really his fault.”

Lydia gives her a look but bites back a comment about Jackson being too selfish to get involved. “Might be better if we avoid talking about him at all, I can’t stand you defending him right now, mom. Especially when you know exactly what he _did_.” 

“Of course, Sweetheart. Let’s not talk about this.” She gives her a tight-lipped smile and heads toward the kitchen. “Go get changed so we can have dinner.” 

She nods slightly, then takes a deep breath and starts upstairs. Maybe Scott will want to share a house somewhere once she has a full time job. Living with Jackson’s biggest supporter is just going to make this harder than it has to be.

***

It’s after midnight and she _can’t_ sleep. She’s tried everything. She has flipped through several books but she can’t quiet her mind. Driving around for some cool air and distraction seems to be her last option. 

She doesn’t even bother with the radio, just makes sure her windows are down as she drives aimlessly through town. Somehow, she ends up by the preserve, but a moment later, she realizes where she’s headed and quickly turns around. If this is some kind of warning, she doesn’t want to know. 

Eventually, she does feel herself starting to relax, so she feels like it’s time to head back home. Despite the lack of traffic, she pulls to a stop at a red light and leans back against her seat. When the only other car she’s seen all night pulls up next to her, she turns to look at it. 

And her heart stops.

***

Stiles is as exhausted as he is wired -- and he’s spent most of the last several years feeling that way on a nearly nightly basis. Still, a cross-country flight that didn’t land until nearly 11 PM has put him on more edge than usual and he can’t stifle a yawn as he leans his head back against the headrest as he stops at the red light. It’s both strange and yet familiar to be back behind Rosco’s wheel and a tired smile touches his mouth as he relaxes his hands around the steering wheel a bit. 

His windows are rolled almost all the way down, more for the cool evening air than anything. Except the air here isn’t nearly as cool as it is in D.C. this time of night. Still, it’s refreshing. Distantly he hears a car pull up beside him but he doesn’t glance over, lost in memories of his younger days. 

And then he hears a gasp and he turns his head instinctively, freezing when he spots Lydia Martin -- no. Lydia _Whittemore_ in the vehicle beside him. He’s pretty sure he’s gaping at her. 

She is actually gaping back at him. Because of course it _is_ him. And the jeep. She couldn’t miss the jeep if she tried. Her heart feel like it’s going to explode from how quickly it’s beating against her chest. “Stiles.” It’s about all she can manage when he looks back at her. “Hi.” 

It’s been five years since the last time he’d seen her up close and personal and not on a Skype or FaceTime conversation, or just on Facebook. His mouth goes dry and he tries to remember when they actually even last spoke. It’s been awhile. “Hi,” he says back after a moment, struggling from the shock of seeing her again. In Beacon Hills of all places. 

“I didn’t know you were in town,” she says, a little louder than she normally would, because of the engine noise coming from the jeep. And as she starts thinking about it, it’s weird that Scott never mentioned anything. 

“I didn’t -- know you were in town either. Is everything okay?” His first thought is immediately of her mom -- that she’s sick or worse. And as much as he knows that Natalie Martin hates him, he’d never wish anything bad happen to her. She’s Lydia’s mother.

Lydia hesitates at the question, then nods slightly. Because all things considered, the worst is definitely other. “Yeah, I-- just moved back two days ago, actually. Are you here long?” And she does her best to ignore the part of her that hopes his answer is that he moved back, too. 

His heart leaps in his chest at that. She moved back. And then his chest tightens. Which means Jackson is here again, too. Of course. He takes a slow deep breath and exhales. “Not sure, actually.” Because he’s not entirely sure he can stay in the same town as the Whittemore family. It had been different when the two of them were just dating but now…

His lack of an actual answer and the expression on his face make her heart skip a beat and tighten a little. With a slight nod, she manages a smile at him, even though he doesn’t look particularly thrilled to see her. It’s been a long time since the two of them were anything resembling close friends. “Maybe I’ll see you around before you leave,” she offers, mostly as an out.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” And as soon as he says it, he knows it’s the absolute truth, and that somehow makes this even worse. His hands tighten around the steering wheel a little and the light changes from red to green. Still, he hesitates. “I’m swinging by the clinic in the morning to see Scott. He doesn’t know I’m here. You should stop by.” 

At first, she thinks he’s saying this just so she won’t tell Scott. But then he adds the last part and her stomach feels like it’s in knots all of the sudden. She glances at the light when it changes, then back at him before nodding with a small smile. “I’ll check on my schedule and try to make it.” 

He smiles back faintly and nods. “Hopefully see you then.” He doubts he will, though. He hesitantly lifts his right hand in a short wave.

Lydia nods once again in response to his wave, then shifts on her seat and reaches for the wheel, waiting a second and glancing at him once more. “See you,” she adds before pressing down on the gas. She goes slow, though because suddenly the last thing she actually wants is to drive back home.

The moment feels vaguely familiar and he keeps his jeep in the park position as he watches her drive away, half expecting to see a deer running down the road toward her, but he doesn’t and the memory fades away. He closes his eyes for a moment and lays his head against the headrest again. 

_Well that’s one hell of a discovery to come back home to,_ he thinks.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a little after nine when she pulls up to the back of the clinic. She looks around for a moment but doesn’t see the jeep and she can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Except she knows she shouldn’t be. She’s happy to see Scott again, and Stiles didn’t exactly give her a time. Part of her wonders if maybe that was on purpose, that he didn’t really want to see her after all. But most of her doesn’t think that’s true. 

It’s been about five years since they actually talked face to face. And while they’re not really close anymore, she still cares about him a lot. And she doesn’t think he _hates_ her or anything like that that would justify him going out of his way to avoid her.

With a deep breath, she steps out of her car, then picks up the tray from her passenger’s seat carefully and starts toward the door. 

Scott hears her car pull into the drive before he actually sees her, and he smiles softly as he turns to see her walking inside the clinic. “Morning,” he says, eyes full of familiar warmth. His gaze darts to the tray she’s carrying and he raises his eyebrows. Three cups of coffee. “Deaton’s not here til this afternoon,” he tells her, assuming the third cup is for him. 

“Oh, I guess we’ll just have to find better use for the coffee, then,” she says, smiling softly. He clearly doesn’t know Stiles is coming, so she knows she needs to control her anxiety and try her best to make sure he doesn’t pick up on anything.

If he notices anything, he doesn’t mention it. “No work this morning?” he asks as he thanks her and takes one of the cups of coffee. 

“I’m going in to check in but, summer school hasn’t started yet, so there’s not much to do,” she says quietly. “What about you? No clients?”

“Not for a half hour. At least not scheduled. One of the dogs had puppies last night though,” he tells her, expression brightening. “Wanna see?” 

Lydia brightens, too. “Definitely.” She hasn’t really thought of getting another dog since Prada passed away but, maybe once she settles, this could be a nice change.

He holds the door open for her and leads her toward the kennel area in the back, taking a sip of the coffee. “Here they are.” He kneels down in front of one of the kennels where the mama dog and her puppies are. “Come here, Pepper,” he calls softly, and the mama dog gets to her feet and moves over to him. He pets her through the kennel fencing, feeding her a treat as her pups sleep in a pile in the corner. 

“They’re so tiny,” Lydia whispers, kneeling down as she offers the mother her hand so she can smell her. “You must be exhausted.” 

Scott glances at her sideways, small smile on his face as he holds out a treat. “If you feed her, you’ll be her new favorite person.” 

Her face softens and she takes the treat, smiling when the dog takes it gently from her hand a moment later, then comes closer and sits by her to be petted. “Hey there,” Lydia says quietly, scratching her behind her ear. “She’s very sweet.”

“Yeah, she is. A good samaritan brought her in a couple days ago. She’s a stray,” he tells her with a sad smile. 

Lydia frowns a little. “Is that person keeping her?”

“I don’t think so. He just wanted to get her off the streets because he could tell she was going to have puppies soon.” 

“You’ll find a home soon,” Lydia promises, petting her still and smiling softly.

Scott watches her for a moment and starts to say something but then pauses and cocks his head, eyes widening slightly as he rises to his feet. 

Lydia doesn’t notice anything at first. And then she sees Scott getting on his feet then the look on his face and it’s not hard to guess what he’s hearing. Still, just in case it’s not the jeep, she gets up, too. “Everything okay?”

He glances at her, still wide-eyed, and then heads out of the kennel room and toward the front of the clinic wordlessly. “No way,” he whispers as his best friend opens the door and steps inside. “ _Dude._ ” He crosses the room and engulfs Stiles in a tight hug. 

After reaching down to pet the dog one more time, Lydia follows. She smiles softly as the two of them hug, then makes her way over to the desk and picks up her coffee and the one she brought Stiles. Her heart suddenly is beating faster again, but she’s trying her best to ignore it as she sips on her coffee. 

Stiles isn’t surprised when Scott literally meets him at the door and hugs him like they haven’t seen each other in months. Mostly because they haven’t seen each other in months. He hugs him back just as tightly. “Surprise,” he jokes, patting his best friend’s back. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home,” Scott accuses, pulling away to look at him. 

“That’s where the whole surprise thing comes into effect, Scottie.” Stiles smirks at him momentarily before his gaze shifts to Lydia, standing at the counter with a cup of coffee. “Hey, again,” he greets her, voice quiet, but smile still on his face.

“Hey,” she greets, lifting the other cup toward him. “I got--” you, us, sounds awkward, somehow. “Everyone coffee.”

“You knew he was here?” If possible, Scott’s eyes widen even more as he turns to look at her. 

“We saw each other last night -- totally unplanned,” Stiles explains as he moves over to where Lydia’s standing. For him to be up this early after the flight yesterday, he definitely needs more caffeine. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” she adds to Stiles with a soft smile, feeling a little less like she shouldn’t be here. Then she focuses on Scott. “He mentioned he was coming by to surprise you, asked if I wanted to come.”

Scott looks between them for a few seconds and then shakes his head. “If I’d known you were both going to be in town, I would have traded shifts with Deaton this morning and we could have met for breakfast or something.” 

“Easy.” Stiles pats his shoulders. “We can just do dinner instead.” He pauses, glancing over at Lydia. “Uh, I mean if we’re all up for that.” 

“Dinner sounds nice,” she says quietly, looking at Stiles for a moment. She’s not entirely sure he’s comfortable with inviting her, or if he really means it. So she adds: “But I don’t wanna get in the way of you two catching up.”

“You never get in the way, Lydia,” Scott says sincerely, reaching out and touching her arm, soft smile on his mouth. 

“I’ll even buy,” Stiles offers, leaning against the counter and taking a drink of the coffee. 

“Thank you,” she says to Scott, smiling softly at him, then looks back at Stiles and nods a little. “Just let me know when you guys wanna go.”

“I’m off at 3,” Scott offers. “So I’m pretty much free after that.” He glances at Lydia, then at Stiles. 

“I’m good whenever. My event calendar isn’t filled up yet this week.” 

Lydia can’t help but wonder what he would fill up his calendar with, considering he’s _here_ and not back in Washington, so she nods. “I should be good after 5.” She just wants to make sure she has time to go home and shower after work.

“How about six then?” Stiles suggests, looking between the two of them. “That diner on the corner of Wood and 18th?” 

Scott winces a little. “Stiles, that place got torn down earlier this year,” he tells his friend. 

“What? Nooo. They had the best milkshakes.” He sighs. 

She smiles a little at their interaction. “I have no idea what we still have, but my mom is picky and she swears by this tacos and margaritas place on Main. It’s pretty new, I think.”

Scott stifles a laugh at the mention of margaritas and looks at the floor when Stiles glares at him. “I don’t know if Stiles can handle margaritas, Lyds.” His voice is teasing. 

“Scott, I swear to _god_ ,” he begins. 

“I assume I’m missing a story here, I’m not entirely sure I want to hear it,” she teases quietly.

Scott smirks and opens his mouth but Stiles cuts him off, pointing at him. “That’s good because there was a _blood oath_ involved and don’t make me bring up the time you tried to make your mom’s meatloaf, McCall, because I _will_.” 

Scott immediately shut his mouth, wide eyed. 

Lydia smiles softly as she tries hard to ignore the part of her that insists on reminding her how much she missed. How much time she’s wasted because of the choices she’s made. But she knows she can’t change them now. And the last thing she wants is to make them feel bad for being happy. 

“Okay, I should get to the school and you guys can fill me in on what I missed tonight. See you there at six, then?”

They both look over at her. 

“Wait, the school?” Stiles’ eyebrows furrow a little. 

“I’m teaching Summer school,” she explain, smiling a little. “Math.”

He blinks a couple of times, genuinely surprised by that information. He glances at Scott and then back at Lydia. “Oh. Well, of course you’d be teaching _math_. Don’t be too hard on those poor kids, okay?” he jokes.

“I’m mostly worried about how hard they’re going to be on _me_ ,” she jokes, then takes a deep breath and starts back toward the back door, waving at them. “See you later.”

“See you tonight,” Scott agrees, watching her head toward the door. 

Stiles watches her go, too, then lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He sets down the cup of coffee on the counter. “I had no idea she was back in town.” 

“She got back a couple of days ago, I ran into her yesterday morning,” Scott tells him, smiling a little. “It’s nice to have both of you back here at the same time.”

He glances at Scott. “I guess I just never thought she’d end up back here, you know?” 

Scott cocks his head as he hears something outside, focusing on the noise for a moment, then nodding at Stiles. “I think it’ll be good for her.”

He bites back a remark that he’s not sure Beacon Hills is really _good_ for anyone. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see,” he murmurs.

***

Stiles makes it to the restaurant early so he can get the three of them a table. He wonders momentarily if he needs to make it a table for four -- but he’s pretty sure after his last conversation with Jackson, the guy won’t show up in his general vicinity. Good. He draws in a breath as he follows the waitress to a table in the back corner and slides into the booth, ordering himself a glass of water to begin with, and pulling out his cell phone, cocking his head when he sees he has a missed voicemail. 

“Stiles, call me when you get this message. I’ve got news about Lydia,” he hears Scott say. He glances at the date -- yesterday. He shakes his head and deletes it. Must have gotten it when he was on his flight. He scrolls through his missed texts, decides nothing is an emergency and ignores all of them. He needs to focus. To breathe. He hadn’t anticipated Lydia being here when he decided on a whim to return to Beacon Hills, and to say that his nerves are rattled by the fact she’s here unexpectedly would be an understatement. 

He hesitates a second, thumb hovering over his pictures and then slowly he scrolls through them until he finds the one picture of her he still has on his phone. It had been taken their senior year, a few days before graduation. She’s leaning back against the cafeteria table, laughing at something that Kira had said. He’s not sure she even knows he’d taken her picture that day, but she was on her way out of town to UCLA in a few weeks and he wanted something -- some reminder that she was happy. 

He sighs softly and exits the photo stream, then checks his emails, grimacing at a case update back in D.C. Nothing _official_ , but he kept in touch with friends he’d made in the Bureau, and one of them had forwarded him an article on a serial killer or killers tearing his (their) way through the state of New York. The article had a short email message attached from his buddy. 

_What do you make of the symbol on the wall?_

Stiles pans through the article, skimming it briefly until he finds the picture and pauses at the photo of the inverted pentagram. Interesting, he thinks idly, lost in thought and not hearing the footsteps approaching the table. 

“Hey,” Lydia greets a moment later as she slides on the booth, across from him. She took her time getting ready, mostly because she hasn’t had much of a reason to dress up lately. Not that she’s all that dressed up but definitely more put together than this morning. Curls on her hair, make up with a darker shade of eyeshadow that matches her dark blue dress with red flowers on it. 

“Is Scott not here yet?”

He looks up, startled by her sudden presence. He can’t help the way his eyes drink her in and he swallows heavily because it’s been awhile since he’s dwelt on how beautiful she really is. Then again not being within a few thousand miles of her in years makes it easier to focus on other things occasionally. 

“No, not yet.” He closes out his email and turns his phone over on the table. “He probably stopped to save a kitten from a tree.” 

Lydia pauses at the way he looks at her. Mostly because she’s fairly sure the way _anyone_ looked at her like that, it was Stiles a long time ago. She’s not sure anyone is as intense as he is. She can’t help but stare back at him for a moment, then she quickly looks away, nodding and smiling slightly. She gives herself a moment as she sets her purse down on the seat before glancing at him again. “How’s your dad doing?”

“He’s good,” he tells her, trailing his index finger over the lip of his glass of water unconsciously. “He and Melissa are living together now. She moved into Casa Stilinski a few months ago.” Though for all he knows, Lydia’s already aware of that. 

“She did?” Lydia smiles more at that information. She’s always felt like the two of them would be a good match. “That’s really great. So-- is Scott living there too, or, is he still at the other house?”

“Well.” He scratches the back of his neck, leaning back against the booth. “Actually Derek rented out his place to Scott since he’s not here and Scott’s used to being on his own.” 

“Oh, so he’s living at the loft? That’s nice. And you-- are staying with your dad?” she asks quietly.

Stiles shifts in his seat. “Right now I’m staying in a motel room,” he admits. 

Lydia frowns slightly at that information. Particularly considering how uncomfortable he looks all of the sudden. “You-- didn’t want to stay with them? Or with Scott?”

“Well, it’s been like...five years since I lived with my dad and with he and Melissa finally getting their shit together…” He shrugs. “I don’t want to intrude on that.” His dad deserves to be happy. “And it’s occurred to me to start rooming with Scott but I have a feeling that’s reserved for Kira when she graduates in a couple weeks.” Because yes, he’s spent the entire day at the clinic with Scott while he worked because what are boundaries between life-long best friends anyway?

“Right. And there’s a severe lack of privacy at the loft,” she agrees with a small smile. “I’d offer one of the empty rooms at my mom’s house, but I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.” And she’s only half joking this time. 

“It’s fine,” he assures her. No way would her mom ever be okay with her inviting him to stay there. Some things never change. He studies Lydia for a moment, about to ask her what made her and Jackson decide to come back to town when the waitress appears once more. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks Lydia with a smile. 

“Oh,” she smiles at the waitress then reaches for the menu that she hasn’t touched yet. Then nods and looks up at her again. “I’ll have a frozen strawberry margarita and a water.” 

“Good choice,” the girl tells her, jotting it down and glancing at Stiles. “Still sticking with water?” 

“I’ll take a beer. Whatever’s on tap,” he responds, taking a drink of his water. 

“You got it. Coming right up.” She heads away.

Lydia watches as the girl leaves, then focuses on Stiles again. “So Kira decided to move back home?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure the two of them will be engaged within the next year.” He smiles faintly and looks down at the table. 

“That’s good,” Lydia smiles a little, glancing away as she unconsciously rubs her thumb over her ring finger. She suddenly wishes she had a glass of something just to keep herself busy with it.

“Yeah, they’re good for each other,” he says quietly. They’re a good combination. He starts to say something else but catches sight of her thumb moving over her finger. Her very bare finger. For a moment, he stares at it uncomprehending, then lifts his gaze to her face. “Lydia?” 

Her heart skips a beat at the way he calls her name. Mostly because there’s a surprise there and it immediately makes her think _something_ happened. She blinks and focuses on his face for a moment, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates a second. “You’re not wearing your ring.” 

“Oh,” she looks down at her hands and it’s instinct to pull them away from the table, but she doesn’t. Because she doesn’t have anything to hide. “I thought Scott told you.”

“Told me what?” There’s a knot in his stomach as he stares at her intently. 

“That-- Jackson and I got a divorce,” she adds the last word in a much quieter voice. She’s been trying to force herself to say it, but it’s not easy to do it outloud.

He’s not sure how he missed that tidbit of information. The last few months and weeks have been some of his busiest, but he hadn’t realized he’d let the ball drop that badly when it came to keeping up with the people he cares about. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. Because he _is_ sorry, because it’s obviously something she’s not happy about and no part of him has ever wanted to see Lydia hurting. 

There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes her stomach clench and her eyes tear up. Because Stiles is the one person who called her out on it. Who told her time and again that she deserved better. And yet, she knows he means it completely. And although she’s coming to terms with the realization of how much of an idiot she was, she’s not ready to have the conversation about how right _he_ was just yet. So she takes a deep breath and nods slightly. “Thanks.”

He has to hold his breath when her eyes tear up. He wants nothing more than to slide around to sit beside her in the booth, to hug her tightly and try to soothe her pain. But if there’s one thing he’s gained more of the last few years, it’s self-control. He doesn’t always act as impulsively as he once did. And he’s not sure that the gesture would be welcome given everything that’s happened, so he just nods and drops his gaze to the table, nodding. 

Lydia glances his way just in time to see him looking away. She doesn’t want him to feel bad. She’s about to reach out for his hand, to tell him she’s okay when the waitress comes back with their drinks. 

“Can I get you guys anything else?” she asks with a smile.

“We’re still waiting for a friend. We’ll order when he gets here, but thank you,” Lydia answers, her voice immediately cheerful and light again. After countless arguments at dinner tables, it’s easy to switch it on and off so she doesn’t accidently take it off on innocent people.

Stiles picks up his beer and takes a drink, leaning back in the booth and gazing at her for a moment, picking up instantly on her change in demeanor. It reminds him a little of how she used to be, back before she’d known anything about banshees or werewolves or kitsunes. “So you’re back for good then?” 

“I’m back for now,” she answers as she turns her attention toward him. Her voice back to a more neutral tone. She takes a sip of her drink, then shrugs a shoulder as she manages to get a better handle on her emotions. “Everything just happened so-- I’m giving myself the summer to regroup and figure out what to do next.” 

He searches her eyes, noting the very neutral tone in her voice and backs off the subject entirely in a way he once never would have. “Fair enough,” he says quietly, nodding at her and lifting his drink up. “To new beginnings.” 

Lydia smiles a little at that. She clinks her glass against his and nods, but she doesn’t really trust her voice to say anything, so she just takes a sip of her very cold drink. If the tequila doesn’t help her relax, hopefully the ice will calm her down some.

At that moment, his phone vibrates and he picks it up, narrowing his eyes a little as he sees a message from Scott. “Well, looks like our reunion is down to just us. Scott just texted. Some kind of emergency at the clinic. Deaton needs him so he’s not going to make it for dinner.” 

“Oh.” Lydia frowns worriedly at that. “Are the puppies okay?”

“Something about an emergency involving a cat, so I assume so.” He shrugs and responds to Scott with _Okay. See you tomorrow,_ and sets his phone back down on the table.

“Hope it’s okay,” she says quietly, glancing out the window then back at Stiles. “Do you-- wanna stay?”

He sees the way her gaze darts to the window and it occurs to him that she might not be very comfortable if it’s just the two of them without Scott as a buffer. “Do you not want to?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Lydia purses her lips together and shakes her head. Then realizes it might be the wrong message, so she adds: “I don’t have anything else to do, but you mentioned your schedule earlier, I don’t know if you’re busy and want to go take care of things so you can have time with Scott another night.”

“Until I figure out what I’m doing next, my schedule’s pretty open.” He meets her eyes. “I’ll have plenty of time with Scott.” 

She relaxes a little, then nods at him. “Do you-- you just graduated, right?”

He looks surprised. “Yeah, how’d you know?” 

“It’s been four years,” she says quietly, smiling a little. “And from what you just said, I assumed.”

A short laugh escapes him and he shakes his head. “Right. Though technically it’s been five years.” He takes a drink of his beer. 

“Right, but you didn’t start at GWU for, what, a semester?” she asks, immediately feeling bad that she doesn’t know the answer to that.

“Right,” he agrees, nodding. “Guess I wasn’t ready to let go of my not so glory days.” 

Her face softens and she nods back at him. “Is that why you’re home? Taking a break before-- the next step?”

“Pretty much.” He offers her a small smile. “So I guess we’re both kind of trying to figure out what that next step is.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly, then picks up her drink and takes a long sip.

He nods and looks down at the table, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly and looking up again when the waitress stops by to take their orders. He offers her a friendly smile and orders a plate of food, waiting for Lydia to do the same.

Once she orders, Lydia focuses on Stiles again. “How have you been, Stiles?” It feels like forever since they talked. And maybe it has been forever.

A simple question like that shouldn’t feel as loaded and weighty as it does, but...it does. “Busy, mostly,” he says quietly. “To be honest I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I wake up in a couple days and I don’t have a bunch of classes to attend, and tests to study for, but...then again I’m back in Beacon Hills so in two days we’ll probably have a nest of vampires or something trying to kill us all, so.” 

Her face actually falls at that, she shakes her head slightly. “I hope the most exciting thing you have to do is go over to the clinic to hang out with Scott.”

His lips curve upwards a little, but it’s a wry smile he gives her. “That’d be nice but I’ve never been much of an optimist.” He takes another drink of his beer and drums his fingers on the table. “How’ve you been...certain things aside?” 

Lydia smiles a little at his wording, because she definitely appreciates not talking about the divorce. “After living with my mother again for three days, I’m pretty motivated to find a full time job and _move_ ,” she jokes. 

He full on smirks at that. “You’re welcome to crash at my motel room but if your mom finds out, she’ll probably hire a hitman to take me out,” he jokes back. 

“I’ll keep the offer in mind,” she promises, smiling at the smirk on his face. “Otherwise I’ll probably just drive around until one in the morning again.”

“That’s why you were driving around so early this morning?” His forehead wrinkles. 

“Mostly, I just couldn’t sleep,” she admits. “And to be fair, my mom isn’t doing anything bad. It’s just-- hard to move back in after so long.”

“Fair enough,” he says, nodding. Insomnia’s always been an issue for him, and as much as he loves his dad -- and Melissa -- he’s having a hard time imagining living with them at this point. 

Before she can ask him anything else, the waitress brings them their food. Lydia is nearly done with her drink, so she pauses. “Are you drinking more?”

He considers for a moment, then grins a little. “Yeah, why not? I’ll have another beer when you get a minute,” he tells the waitress. 

“Another margarita, then,” Lydia says, smiling at the waitress as well. Once the girl leaves, Lydia smiles at Stiles. “I guess it _is_ Friday.”

“And we’re young, so we do what we want.” He finishes off his beer and sets the glass on the table. 

“Young-ish,” she points out, cocking her head. “We’re officially in our mid-twenties, Stiles.” And as much as she tries not to care, sometimes that hits her hard.

“Twenty-four is still early twenties. Mid-twenties doesn’t start til we’re twenty-five so we’ve got almost a full year before we hit our mid-twenties.” 

“Twenty-four and twenty-five can be mid-twenties. Twenty-six things get really ugly and you go to your late twenties,” she says, shaking her head a little.

“And people say _I’m_ the pessimistic one,” he says, giving her a look. “You’re only as old as you feel.” Although frankly he usually feels a lot older than however he is at the time.

“I feel pretty old right now,” she admits, her smile a little sad as she drinks the last of her margarita.

His smile slips a bit at that and he presses his lips together. “Stick with me, and you’ll be feeling like you’re seventeen all over again.” Except that’s not necessarily a great thing considering everything that happened when they were seventeen.

Lydia smiles a little at that, then takes a deep breath. “Can we make it sixteen?” Before she lost Allison. Before she got back together with Jackson. Before she isolated herself from Stiles, Scott and the rest of the pack.

As if reading her thoughts he tries to smile but doesn’t manage it this time, taking a drink of his water. “Absolutely.” If only it was that easy.

“I’m not sure how we all ended up here at the same time,” she says quietly, looking away then back at him. “But I’m glad you two are here, too.” 

“Fate, I guess,” he says quietly, meeting her eyes. 

“I hope so,” she whispers as she holds his gaze. Because maybe if it is fate, it’ll mean she might actually be back on the right track.

They fall into a comfortable silence until the waitress brings them their meals and Stiles takes a bite of the burrito he ordered, groaning. “Okay this is amazing. Mexican food in DC isn’t this good.” 

“It is pretty impressive,” she agrees after trying her taco. “Although, the tacos down in LA are pretty great, too.”

He wouldn’t know, but he doesn’t say so. “Did you like LA?” he asks instead.

“The traffic is pretty horrible,” she admits, then shrugs a shoulder. “But-- after living here all my life, it was a good experience. It was easy to stay busy even without the supernatural threats.” 

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” On both accounts. The traffic in DC was horrible, but at least he hadn’t had to drive in it. He considers for a moment, glancing at Lydia for a moment. “So, no supernatural shennanigans in L.A.?” he asks carefully.

Lydia purses her lips together at the question. “I’m not sure. There were a couple of times when I felt myself zoning out, but, nothing really happened.” 

He watches her carefully, relaxing a little. It’s surprising to hear, but he’s also glad for her. “That’s good.” 

“I don’t know if it is,” she admits with a soft sigh, glad she has a new drink to sip on. “In a city that size, something must have happened, Stiles.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was just this place.” It isn’t. It wasn’t. He knows it for a fact, with every bone in his body, but there’s no point in dwelling on things they can’t change. “The Nemeton.” He takes a long drink of his beer.

“So there was nothing in DC, either?” And maybe if he confirms that, she’ll feel a little better about not having felt much of anything in the past 5 years.

He doesn’t look up at her this time, because lying straight to most people’s face isn’t hard for him, but lying to Lydia’s face isn’t something he enjoys or can do well. “Pretty sure the president is actually an alien set on destroying the planet?” 

She arches her eyebrows and cocks her head, her stomach clenching. “Stiles?”

“Kidding. I’ve no proof that aliens actually exist.” He draws in a breath and looks at her.

“They do exist,” she says matter-of-factly then shakes her head. “Did you find anything _supernatural_ anywhere outside of here?”

Stiles sighs softly and leans back in the booth, picking up his beer. “Yes. But to be fair, I went looking.” 

Her face falls, but she nods slightly. “Was it bad?”

“Not all of it. But vampires are real. Which I haven’t told Scott yet and now I have to start calling him Jacob.” 

Lydia stares blankly at him for a moment, then shakes her head, frowning hard. “Was that-- a Twilight reference?” 

A short laugh escapes him. “Yes. Yes it was.” 

“You know what they say, the jokes get worse with age,” she teases, smiling a little. 

He squints at her, mock glaring. “Yes, they _do_.” 

She grins softly, then shakes her head. “You never did tell me about what you found, besides vampires.” 

Stiles takes a drink. “There’s a lot more than what we knew about.” He lowers his voice, leaning his elbows on the table. “Including sirens, witches, pixies, and obakes.” He sets his mug down again. “Still trying to get conclusive evidence about ghosts, mermaids and dragons.” 

“Ghosts are real, Stiles,” she gives him a little smile. Maybe she can’t see them, but she can sure as hell hear them.

“To be fair that one definitely has the most evidence of the three.” He takes a couple bites of food.

“Yeah, I’d say so, considering the voices I hear on occasion,” she points out.

Stiles meets her eyes, finishes chewing and swallows down a gulp of beer. “We know for sure banshee ghosts exist, but it’s...the non-banshee kind I’m not sure about.” 

“You mean like, actual wandering ghosts haunting places?” she asks curiously.

“Yeah. Or even just wandering. Or just haunting. I’m pretty sure poltergeists are real, but that’s not exactly the same thing as ghosts,” he tells her. 

“You have evidence on that?” she asks, frowning slightly.

“Only the extremely vivid memory of a cabinet full of good china narrowly missing my head thrown by an invisible hand?” he responds lightly, leaning back in the booth.

Lydia cocks her head, frowning harder as she stares at him for a full moment. “What were you _really_ doing in the past five years?”

“Double majoring in psychology and criminal justice, minoring in mythology and writing my own beastiary?” Stiles presses his lips together, shrugging. 

Her eyes widen at the information. “You’ve been busy.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, nodding. It’s how he likes things. When you’re so busy all the time, you don’t have time to dwell or sink into a pit hole of despair or depression. 

“It sounds… very you,” she says quietly, smiling softly.

He almost jokes that it’s because he doesn’t know how to be anyone else, but that could be taken other ways, and he’d rather not. “What about you? Tell me all about UCLA.” 

“Well… I graduated over two years ago?” she says quietly, smiling a little.

“Yeah,” Stiles acknowledges with a slight nod. “But this is the first time I’ve seen you since before you graduated.” 

“Yeah. It’s been a long time.” Both since she graduated and since they saw each other.

He holds his breath for a moment, glancing down his plate as he considers his next words. “I’m sorry I missed your graduation.” His voice grows more quiet. He’d been invited -- the entire pack had. He knows Scott and Kira had both attended, but he’d declined. Not just because he was on the East Coast, but because the idea of watching her and Jackson -- married and in love -- made him feel physically ill. And Stiles has always been more than a little bit selfish.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she says quietly, then shakes her head. “It’s… I get it.

“You do?” He glances over at her, chewing his lower lip.

“I mean, Scott and Kira stayed at our place and-- you and Jackson were never exactly BFFs.” And just saying his name leaves a bad taste in her mouth, so she sips on her drink, then smiles a little as she reaches inside the collar of her dress and pulls out a long necklace. “I still have this, though.”

He starts to tell her that’s not why he missed her graduation, but his gaze immediately goes to the protective amulet she’s wearing around her neck. He wasn’t sure if she would, but a small smile touches his mouth. “Oh.” 

“I know it’s functional. But it’s also very pretty,” she says quietly, smiling back at him. And to avoid some major drama, she never told Jackson who gave her the necklace. Or that it was for protection. She knows that out of everyone, he hated Stiles the most. He would never be okay with wearing this, even if it meant keeping her safe.

“It’s uh -- rainbow moonstone,” he tells her after a moment. “In addition to protection it’s supposed to help keep your mind clear and safe from negative energy sources.” It’s why he’d chosen that particular stone, because Lydia more than most is vulnerable to negative psychic energy because she’s a banshee. Not to mention what Peter Hale had done to her all those years ago, invading her mind the way he had. 

“You mean like-- possession?” she asks quietly, because she does think of Peter almost immediately. And she hadn’t thought of him in ages.

The fact that he doesn’t flinch at the word possession makes him feel like he’s made at least a little bit of progress dealing with some of his demons in the last few years. “Yeah,” he admits, nodding. 

“Do you have one?” she whispers, her voice quieter as she watches him closely.

His gaze shifts away from her and down to his plate, pretending he’s still interested in his food and he very much isn’t. “Moonstone wouldn’t do anything against something like the nogitsune,” he tells her. 

She sees the look on his face and frowns, her own face falling. “I didn’t mean to bring it up. I just-- wanted to know if you’re safe.”

“No, it’s fine.” Stiles draws in a deep breath. “It’s not full proof or anything, but...I’m taking measures against it.” He finishes off his beer.

“I’m glad,” she says quietly, smiling a little at his empty glass. “Let me get you another one of those. Shake off any mention of this.”

He bites make a joke about it being time to switch to something stronger in that case, instead giving her a smile and a nod. “You trying to get me drunk, Lyds?” There’s a hint of teasing in his voice.

Lydia smiles a little more as she flags the waitress down. “I can’t promise to drive you home, but I can definitely walk you back if that becomes necessary.” She’s pretty sure it already is.

His eyes twinkle with amusement as the waitress brings them both another round of drinks. “I’ve missed this.” 

“Me getting you drunk? I’m fairly sure that has never happened before,” she teases.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yes, obviously that’s what I meant.” 

“I missed this too,” she says, more sincerely, after a moment. “I can’t really remember the last time we talked.” Not like this.

He takes a sip of his beer, thinking for a moment. “Junior year.” Before he’d been possessed. Before Allison had died. Before before before. 

Lydia is definitely surprised by the precision, but she’s also intrigued. She’s done with her food, so she pushes the plate aside and leans forward. “Remind me?”

“We were in my room, arguing about whether or not bigfoot was real.” After having watched a couple of movies and spent the day just hanging out for no reason other than enjoying each other’s company. 

She pauses as a smile slowly grows on her lips. “I remember that. And I maintain he is a legend based on complete lack of evidence last time I looked. And no, ‘massive pawprints’ aren’t evidence.” 

He smirks at her. “Believe it or not, I actually agree now.” He pauses. “ _Mostly._ I’m still keeping a bit of an open mind.” 

“Well, considering what you chose to study, I’d be shocked if you weren’t,” she teases, then grows a little more serious even though the smile is still present on her lips. “Did you bring all that evidence on other things you found back home with you?”

He almost looks insulted. “Of course.” Most of his clothes and other belongings were still in DC, but he’d brought all of his research back with him. 

“Can I see it?” she asks quietly, almost shyly. 

He wants to ask her if she’s sure. If she really wants to dip her toes back into the waters of the supernatural. But the thought of teaming up with her, researching and exchanging theories makes something in his chest feel warmer than it has in a long time and he smiles softly. “Yeah, definitely. I’d like that.” 

“Do you wanna go now?” she asks before she can stop herself. Because that’s what she’s looking for. That’s what she’s missing. That partnership. The feeling of accomplishment when they figured things out. Feeling _useful_ and helpful. But also, feeling connected to him again. And maybe two margaritas ago she wouldn’t have made this suggestion, but the idea feels very comforting right now.

He raises his eyebrows, a little surprised by the fact that she wants to go now. He’s also not about to protest. As much as he’s enjoying her company at the restaurant, he’s tired of having to whisper about everything to avoid being overheard. “Yeah, sure.” He flags down the waitress, pays the bill and leaves the tip, rising to his feet and holding his hand out to help her up.

She frowns a little, but gets up and takes his hand, unsure if her stomach flips because of how warm his fingers feel around hers, or if it’s the alcohol. “I owe you a dinner.”

“Nope. I called dibs on buying dinner this morning,” he reminds her, curling his fingers around hers instinctively. “You owe me nothing.” 

“I said I was going to buy you that beer, though,” she points out, holding on to his hand a little tighter than she means to. But she also feels more than a little lightheaded.

He’s pleasantly buzzed himself, but he’s steady on his feet. “Next time we have dinner you can definitely buy me a beer.” He nods, guiding her toward the door. 

“I can buy you dinner,” she corrects him. Because this has always been different with Stiles. She’s always felt like his equal.

He gives a mock sigh. “Fine, fine, but I get to pick the restaurant.” 

Her face brightens and she nods in response. “Okay. And if I hate it, I’m not going to tell you until after we leave.”

He laughs. “Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes slowly, head still fuzzy and mouth dry from the alcohol he vaguely recalls consuming the night before. God, and it had just been beer. A lot of beer, but beer nonetheless. Apparently he did college all wrong because he’s pretty sure he read somewhere that it’s supposed to help raise your tolerance level and it had been pretty high long before college. Crap, it worked in reverse, he thinks, groaning softly and managing to open one eye. 

He’s not in his apartment and he squints against the bright light filtering into the room from blinds that should definitely be closed. And covered with black out curtains. He rubs a hand over his face and peers at the clock. 

10:22 A.M. 

Well, hell. He huffs and shifts on the bed, frowning as he realizes he’s still fully dressed in his clothes from the day before. Well why the hell not. 

He starts to push himself up, wincing as a book tumbles off the edge of the bed and hits the floor with a thud. Had he been researching? He can’t quite remember. But when he turns his head, he sees Lydia curled up beside him, fast asleep and he holds his breath, dropping his gaze to his fingers and counting quickly just to be sure this isn’t a dream. 

She _was_ fast asleep. The loud thud makes her aware of the pounding going on inside her brain and she begins to frown. She’s not uncomfortable, but the bed feels harder than it should be. With a frown, she squints, but it’s bright so she gives up opening her eyes entirely and covers her face with her arm instead as she groans.

He glances up when she groans and a tiny smile touches his mouth -- both because he’s _not_ , in fact, dreaming, and also because she seems about as happy to see the sun as he is. Part of him is tempted to lie back down, curl up beside her, and attempt going back to sleep, but he has a feeling that’s probably not what he _should_ do. So instead, he gazes at her for a moment, then carefully climbs out of bed and heads to the other side of the room to the mini-fridge, grabbing out a couple bottles of water. She’ll need it more than he will, he thinks, moving back to the bed and quietly setting one of them down on the nightstand. 

“Lydia,” he says quietly. 

When he speaks her name, she stills. And then her frown deepens for a moment before she instinctively pushes herself up. But stops halfway to sitting because her stomach and head are both turning. “Stiles.” And while she is confused, she’s also fairly sure this isn’t actually happening. 

“Whoa, easy.” He reaches out and lays a hand on her arm to keep her from sitting up much more. “I’m pretty sure you’re more hungover than I am.” He hands her the bottle of water. 

“Tequila,” she says, making a face and taking the bottle of water, then sipping. Okay, the tequila is definitely real. And she can feel her feet and how sore they are from walking-- however many blocks in her brand new shoes. After she’s done with one third of the water, she sets the bottle back down and stares at him, trying to decide if last night really happened.

He watches her with concern in his eyes but shifts uncomfortably the longer she stares at him. Like she’s trying to figure him out. He licks his dry lips and grabs his own bottle of water, taking a sip and leaning back against the bed’s headboard. “How bad do you feel right now, scale of one to ten, one being you feel awesome, ten being...everything is spinning and there are five of me?” 

“Eight,” she mumbles, staring at him unconsciously. Staring at his lips, specifically. Even if she doesn’t realize she’s doing it. Then, a moment later, she pushes herself up to a fully sitting position but leans back against the headboard shortly after. 

Stiles grimaces. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got aspirin somewhere,” he tells her. 

She reaches out and holds on to his arm, shaking her head as she lifts the bottle to her lips again. “Water’s fine.”

“You sure?” He frowns a little. “It’s no trouble. I just haven’t unpacked anything except a couple sets of clothes and my books.” 

“After water it’ll be a five,” she assures him. “It’s just-- been a long time since I drank.”

He wants it to be a one, but he nods instead, glancing down at where her hand is still resting on his arm. “I’m at about a four.” 

Lydia smiles a little as she glances at him. “Now you can say I got you drunk.”

“Definitely on my top ten list of fantasies,” he says with a wink. 

She gives him a look and shakes her head. “You need better fantasies.”

Stiles’ grin brightens at that. “No comment.” To this day she’s in all of them, but he doubts she’s interested in hearing that.

With an eyeroll, she smirks then leans her head back against the board and closes her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost 11,” he responds, yawning involuntarily. “I don’t even remember what time I passed out.” 

“I think somewhere between Egypt curses being real things and Mummies coming back to life,” she mutters, a smile on her lips at the memories of the previous night.

He smiles at that, turning his head toward her. “Yeah, I think you’re right. But not on the mummies part. I definitely think they can come back to life.” 

Lydia grins softly, then opens her eyes and turns her head toward him without lifting it from the headboard. “You’re wrong.”

“Rarely,” he retorts. 

“Occasionally,” she points out, but she’s mostly teasing. “But I could go with rarely.”

He nudges her with his elbow. “I could lay down and sleep for about eight more hours, I think.” 

“I think that sounds like a good plan,” she starts, then pauses. “But-- how can you stand to sleep on this bed? My back is killing me.”

“This is the most comfortable bed my back’s seen in about five years,” he says wryly.

Lydia frowns hard and sits up slowly, then turns to look at him. “We have three extra bedrooms, Stiles, you can’t stay here.”

He just gives her a look, arching his eyebrows. 

She gives him a look right back. “I’ll sneak you in after she goes to bed, she won’t notice.”

“Sneak around like we’re sixteen?” He mock gasps. “Lydia Martin.” 

“Being sixteen again was the plan we made last night, right?” she reminds him.

“Okay, two questions.” He shifts so he’s facing her more. “One: are any of these extra bedrooms on the first floor, and two: does your mom own a gun?” 

“Yes and… not that I’m aware of?” she shakes her head. “But the downstairs one isn’t nearly as nice as the upstairs ones.” 

“Yeah but on the plus side if I have to dive out a window quickly to avoid getting caught, I’m less likely to break a bone.” He smirks.

She gives him a look, then shakes her head. “You know it took her about--3 years to realize her daughter wasn’t human, right?”

“Yeah but we’re talking about me staying in her house, which is…a little different.” 

Lydia gives him a look then sighs. “Fine, but then crash at Scott’s. At least until Kira gets back.”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “I do appreciate the offer.” 

“When I get my own place, you can crash there,” she promises, smiling softly.

“Or vice versa.” An idea occurs to him and he cocks his head to the side. 

She arches her eyebrows at the look on his face. “What?”

“Well, I was just thinking...you’re looking for a place. I’m looking for a place. We could actually look for a place together and cut both of our cost in half.” 

Lydia stares at him for a moment. She immediately considered sharing with Scott but she’s not sure why this wasn’t something she considered. But it sounds like a really good idea, so she nods. “Yeah, we should do that.”

“It would make sense,” he says thoughtfully, shifting so he’s lying down on the bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It does make sense,” she adds, looking down at him. “And I think it’ll be good to have company, too.”

“Yeah.” He smiles a little at that, letting his eyes close. It’s been a long time since he’s actually had company on the regular. He’s been too busy studying his ass off. 

“I’ll start looking when my head stops spinning,” she promises, smiling softly.

“And I’ll start looking after I sleep for a couple more hours.” He yawns again.

She watches him for a moment longer, then reaches for her purse over the bedside table, pulling out her phone. Then she groans. “Explains why she hasn’t called. My battery died.” 

“You can use my phone if you want.” He reaches over without opening his eyes, grabs it off the nightstand, and holds it out to her. 

“It’s fine,” she says, patting his hand. “I should head back, anyway.”

He frowns, opening his eyes to look at her again. “You feel well enough to move already?” 

“I’ll be okay, the walking will help.” 

“I’ll walk with you.” He pushes himself up and off the bed in one fluid movement. 

She’s surprised by how quickly he gets up and shakes her head. “Stiles, it’s okay, we’re not that far from the car.”

“I know. But it’s Beacon Hills,” he points out.

Lydia smiles a little and gets up, too. “At least we’re nowhere near the preserve.”

“Or the school.” He gives her a knowing look. “Although that still leaves us not far from the hospital, the sheriff’s station, and Argent’s bunker.” 

“Fair enough,” she smiles a little, then rubs a hand over her face. “You really don’t have to walk all the way there now, Stiles.”

“I know.” He moves toward the door and pulls it open, pocketing his room key and his jeep key. “I still need to pick up my jeep anyway.” 

She watches him for a moment, then nods as she picks up her purse. Before she slides her shoes back on though, she takes a deep breath to prepare herself for the pain she knows is coming.

He watches her curiously for a second before he puts together what’s going on and he grimaces. “Why don’t I walk to the jeep, drive it back, and then drive you to your car?” he suggests. 

“I’ll be okay,” she promises, smiling a little. “I’ve had worse.” 

He frowns. He’s fully aware of how much worse she’s had things over the years, and somehow that doesn’t make him feel any better. “Yeah but will you be able to walk later?” 

“I will. I’ll take a bath when I get home and it’ll be much better,” she says, trying her best to reassure him. “They’re just blisters.”

Stiles presses his lips together, watching her for a moment and then reluctantly nodding. He holds his arm out toward her wordlessly. 

Her face softens and she reaches out, taking his arm and nodding. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” he says quietly, leading her out the door and pulling it shut behind them.

***  
It’s mid afternoon on Monday when Lydia wraps up her first class. All in all, she is feeling much more confident. It’s a small enough class and the students seem actually interested in well, getting the hell out of high school, so it’s a nice enough motivation. 

She’s on her way to her car when she picks up her phone and dials his number. Yes, texting would be easier but… she’s about to start driving, anyway.

He answers on the second ring, sounding a little out of breath. “Hey. What’s up?” 

“Hey.” She pauses with a frown at how he sounds. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just finishing up a run. Everything okay with you?” 

“Oh. Yeah. I’m okay. I got a call back about one of the houses during my lunch break. Scheduled a visit for five today, can you make it?”

“I can definitely make it. Where should I meet you?” 

“Well, I was thinking of going to get some coffee to kill time before I have to get there, so I could pick you up, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I just need to shower and change. Should be good in like, a half hour or so?” 

Her face softens at how easily he accepts the offer. She wouldn’t expect anything else with Stiles, but she’s not exactly used to this kind of response. “Okay, I’ll be up front.”

“Great. See you soon, Lyds.” 

About forty minutes later, she parks in front of the motel where he’s staying, she honks once, then reaches for her iced latte, sipping on it as she waits.

Stiles rakes a hand through his still-damp hair as he steps out of the motel room and heads toward her car, sliding into the passenger seat. “I feel so cheap when you just honk and don’t come up to meet me at the door,” he complains.

“Well, hopefully this will make you feel a little more appreciated,” she says, lifting the cup of coffee she got for him.

His lips curl upwards at that. “Thank you.” He takes a drink and glances at her sideways. “We’ve got another visit tomorrow at noon. You said you could go on lunch hour right?” 

“Yep, already put it on my calendar,” she says, smiling back at him before pulling out of the parking spot. “Although I like today’s better. I hope this one works out.”

“Where is this mystery apartment anyway?” he asks curiously. 

“On Oak Street, it’s the duplex one I showed you last night?”

“Oh right. I made the crack about being glad it was on Oak Street and not Elm Street.” 

Lydia grins, glancing at him for just a second before focusing on the road again. “That one.”

He stretches his legs out in front of him, pleased he’d made her smile because it’s become a goal for him to make that happen as often as humanly possible. “It looked nice from the outside.” 

“Yeah, looked big, too.” And of course they don’t need anything huge but… it’d be nice anyway.

“If this was anywhere but Beacon Hills I’d be a lot more worried about the cost,” he admits. 

“Yeah. Somehow supernatural murders aren’t great for real estate.” She glances at him, then picks up her coffee to take a sip. “Lucky us, I guess.”

“Exactly. Although I don’t know whether to grimace or feel relieved.” He rolls his head to look at her, arching his eyebrows.

“Considering we’re pretty much part of the population causing the town to lose value, I say we take advantage of it.” 

“Fair point. I love the way you think.” He beams. 

***

Lydia is a little nervous about seeing the Sheriff and Melissa again after so long. Which is partially why she asked Stiles to come pick her up on his way. So she wouldn’t have to go in and face them by herself, even if for just a little while. 

She’s already outside by the time the jeep pulls up. With a smile, she adjusts her dress and makes her way down the front steps toward the car. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he greets with a warm smile, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “How was your day?” 

“Good, pretty busy at work. Fridays, I guess. What about yours?” 

“Well, I’m working at the station with my dad now. Temporarily.” He grimaces a little, shrugging.

“You are?” Her eyes widen at that information. “What made you decide on that?”

“I need a job,” he admits. Especially if he’s going to be able to afford his half of the rent every month. 

“Well, I figured that much, but working with your dad-- it has to be difficult. Especially with him being your boss?” 

“Just temporarily. Plus it’ll look good on my resume, right?” Even if his dad was definitely not letting him out of the office. Not that he could start going out on calls since he hasn’t gone through the actual police academy. 

“Definitely will,” she agrees, smiling at him. “I’m glad you’re comfortable with working with him. What will you be doing, exactly?”

“Looking at the new paperwork bitch,” he jokes, aiming his thumbs at himself. 

Lydia grins softly and shakes her head. “You’ll be great at it. I just question how long he’ll manage to keep you off everything else.”

“I’ll be solving his old cases by Monday afternoon.” His voice is cheerful and he winks at her before moving around toward the passenger side of the jeep, pulling it open for her. 

“And he won’t be surprised at all,” she says with a grin before stepping into the jeep, adjusting her dress as she sits down.

“Definitely not.” He smiles at her and carefully closes the door before making his way around to the driver’s side, pausing momentarily when he catches sight of the front door of her house opening. He freezes for a second, pursing his lips and nodding at Lydia’s mom.

Natalie nods at Stiles after a moment, then steps out of the house. “Sweetheart? Where are you going?”

“To dinner, mom. I told you,” she reminds her, shifting on her seat. “I’ll be home in a few hours.” 

Although Natalie looks like she’s about to say something else, she just nods, waves and gives Lydia a small smile. “Be safe.”

Stiles draws in a breath before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “How’d she take it?” he asks quietly as he shuts his door.

“Which part?” Lydia asks just as quietly as she watches her mom retreat back inside the house.

“My being back in Beacon Hills.” 

“I don’t know,” Lydia admits, sighing softly. “I mentioned being with you that night I crashed at the motel, but I just threw the information at her and headed upstairs. She didn’t bring it up again.” 

“Denial,” he says with a nod. She hates him. There’s no doubt in his mind at all. 

“She’s really good at it,” Lydia says, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

He shifts the jeep into gear and reaches out, squeezing her hand momentarily. He glances at her sideways. “Parents definitely can be good at denial,” he agrees quietly.

“Yeah.” She smiles a little at him and squeezes his hand back. “I’m sorry she chose not to like you for whatever reason.” Lydia is pretty sure because Jackson poisoned her against Stiles, but she’s trying hard not to bring him up.

He’s quiet for a few seconds, considering. “I mean to be fair, from her viewpoint, Scott and I are the reason you almost died like, 800 times.” 

“You’re also the reason I’m still alive,” Lydia points out quietly, glancing toward him.

“Works both ways,” he responds, voice dropping even more. 

Lydia squeezes his hand, staring at him for a moment longer before taking a deep breath as she looks away. She can’t think of anything she did that actually saved anyone. All she can think of is what she _didn’t_ do to save Allison. But she’s definitely not bringing that up. In fact, she doesn’t want to talk about this at all. “Is Scott going to be there, too?”

“As long as he doesn’t get hung up at work again,” he tells her with a small smile, sensing her discomfort and squeezing her hand back without thinking about it.

“Hopefully there won’t be a pet emergency again. Or any kind of emergency for that matter,” she says, smiling a little. She glances down at their hands and tightens her hold around his fingers a little more in a silent thanks for letting that subject go so easily.

“Hopefully not.” He glances at her from the corner of his eye. He’d come home partially to spend some quality time with his BFF, but they’d both been pretty busy since he’d gotten to Beacon Hills. He hadn’t anticipated Lydia being there, but in a way it feels like an entire section of years apart just vanished from their collective timeline, placing them back into that comfortable closeness they’d been gaining before he’d gotten possessed by the Nogitsune. 

Lydia sits in comfortable silence until they pull up to the Stilinski’s. She stares at the house for a moment, then glances at Stiles. “Did you-- mention to them about Jackson and I?” 

“They know enough not to bring it up?” He winces a little. 

“That’s what I was hoping for,” she admits, glancing at him as she purses her lips into a small smile.

He relaxes again, watching her for a few seconds. “You ready to do this?” 

“Yeah,” she says quietly, then takes another deep breath and sits up, smiling a little more confidently at him. “Yeah,” she says again, her voice a little firmer. And then she squeezes his hand one last time before reaching for the door to get out of the car.

“Wait.” He frowns, familiar with what she’s doing as he reaches out and gently catches her arm in his grasp. 

Lydia pauses, leaning back against the seat automatically, her eyes a little wide as she turns to look at him. 

“You don’t have to do that here.” His voice is quiet, but serious. 

“Do what?” she asks, a little less shocked, a lot more confused.

Stiles gives her a look. “That thing you do where you pretend to be whoever you think it is people want you to be.” 

She blinks a couple of times, shaking her head almost instantly after. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stiles.”

He watches her for a moment, searching her eyes. “Look, Melissa loves you and my dad’s always adored you, right from the start. You don’t have to be nervous, okay?” 

She _is_ nervous. And right now, she’s also wondering how she’s ‘acting’ since she didn’t notice anything specific to cause that comment. But she won’t get into that now. She doesn’t want to be upset on top of nervous and she’s become really good at avoiding arguments. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen either of them. That’s all.”

Stiles’ expression softens at that. “I know. But it had been a long time since you’d seen me too and look at us.” He smiles.

Her face softens, too. She smiles at him, then looks away as she purses her lips together. “I know.” She didn’t think she could have this kind of friendship with him ever again. Not with how things were the last time they saw each other in person. With a deep breath, she nods, smiling at him again, this time more genuinely. “I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah. You will,” he says sincerely, squeezing her arm gently before letting go and pulling his keys out of the ignition. He opens his jeep door and climbs out of it, stretching his arms over his head. 

Lydia grabs her purse and climbs out of the jeep, pulling her hair over her shoulder and meeting Stiles on the walkway. “I should probably have offered to bring something.” She didn’t even think about it. And she barely had time to shower after school. But still, she could have gotten a bottle of wine on the way home from the school, at least.

“I didn’t think about it either,” he tells her with a shrug. “Once we get settled, we can have everyone over and reciprocate.” 

“Yeah,” she says, smiling a little more at the reminder. “I’m glad everything is settled as far as paperwork goes, though.” She just needs to finish the process of changing her name back. On everything.

He nods his agreement, leading her up the porch steps with a hand at the small of her back. “I need to make a trip back to DC and get the rest of my stuff. Which...isn’t much more than clothes and a desk and a bookcase.” He hadn’t bothered with much in the way of furniture, including a bed. 

“Well, if you can wait until the end of the summer, I could make the drive back with you,” she offers, smiling a little.

“There’s nothing I can’t live without til the end of summer,” he says easily, smiling back at her. 

“Sounds like a plan, then.” She pauses when they reach the front door, glancing his way.

He gives her a reassuring smile before reaching out and ringing the bell. It’s weird to do so, but it’s not his house anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time now.

A moment later, the door opens and Melissa smiles brightly at them. “I thought the three of you changed your minds on dinner with the old people, come in.”

“Scott’s not here yet?” Stiles asks, frowning a little as he follows her into the house, guiding Lydia in with a hand on her back. 

“He called and said he’s on his way,” she answers. 

“Glad he can make it,” Lydia comments, glancing at Stiles with a slight smirk.

“Me too,” another voice says from behind Melissa. Kira moves around the older woman, beaming at her friends. “Hi guys.” 

“Kira?” Lydia gasps, her face brightening as she steps forward and hugs her a moment later.

Kira hugs her back tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“I had no idea _you_ were, it’s good to see you,” she says quietly, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling back. 

“I wanted to surprise everyone. Scott doesn’t know I’m back yet.” She smiles and pulls away to look at Lydia, warmth in her eyes. “How are you?” 

“He’s going to be extremely happy,” Lydia assures her. “I’m doing good. How are you?”o

“I’m good. I just finished up at school this morning.” She links her arm with Lydia’s, tugging her farther into the house. 

Stiles can’t help but smile at the sight even as he shakes his head a little. “Good to see you too, Kira,” he says loudly, lifting a hand to wave at her. 

She tosses a grin over her shoulder at him and turns back to Lydia.

Melissa mocks Kira and links her arm with his. “Come with me, I know where the food is,” she invites.

“At least someone acknowledges my existence,” he jokes, letting her lead him toward the kitchen. 

Lydia watches them go for a moment, smiling at Stiles as he walks past her, then focusing on Kira again. “So are you back permanently?” 

Kira nods, eyes bright. “I am. Are you? You are, right?” she asks hopefully.

“I-- moved back. I didn’t have a set plan but, I’m thinking so, yeah.” And that has been changing a lot in the past few days. But she’s still a little afraid to commit one hundred percent.

The kitsune gazes at her intently for a moment. “Scott’s missed you and Stiles _so_ much,” she says softly. “It’ll be good for all of us to be together again.” 

“I missed all of you guys a lot, too,” she admits, her voice quieter. “I’m still getting used to the idea, but it is pretty great.”

She nods her agreement. “Where are you staying? Your mom?” 

“For now, yeah. But I’m moving hopefully sometime this weekend,” she says with a soft smile.

“Oh. That’s great. I was going to say you could totally crash with me and Scott until you find a place, but sounds like you already...found a place.” She smiles.

She wants to tell Kira about the house, but it seemed important for Stiles to tell everyone, so she holds back and just smiles back. “So what’s your plan now? Or are you still figuring things out, too?”

“Well, I’m gonna move in with Scott. We already planned it and everything, I’m just -- home sooner than expected.” 

“I meant, job-wise. Do you have any plans?” she asks, her voice soft because she knows how difficult that answer might be.

 _”Oh.”_ She hesitates a second. “Well, I was hoping to get hired on at the school in the fall. But I’m not going to put all my eggs in one basket since I’m new and it’s not a sure thing.” She draws in a breath. “I’m gonna apply at the junior high and some of the other schools in the county too just in case.” 

“That sounds like a good plan, but-- don’t be so sure you won’t get hired. I might be able to put in a good word for you,” she says with a smirk.

Her eyebrows furrow. “With your mom?” 

“I’m teaching Math there for the Summer. It’s a temp thing, but it’s been going pretty well so far.”

Kira’s eyes widen. “ _Oh._ Oh, I didn’t know that. That’s awesome!” 

Lydia grins brightly and nods, looking down then back at her. “Yeah, it’s definitely an experience. And it’d be made that much better if you could join me.”

“We could have lunch together every day.” Just like in high school. Her face brightens at the thought. 

“That would be pretty great,” she admits, nodding. “And have the boys come meet us on occasion.”

Kira smiles. “I’m so excited!” 

“I am, too. I’m really glad everyone is here,” Lydia says, then pauses and glances at the front door as she hears Scott’s bike outside. “And I think I’m gonna head into the kitchen for that one.” 

She hugs Lydia once more, quickly and rushes toward the door. 

***

“This lasagna is amazing,” Stiles informs Melissa as he leans back in his chair, glancing over at her and his dad, who’s not even grumbling about how she’d made it with zucchini instead of pasta noodles. 

“It is pretty amazing,” Lydia agrees. “Thank you for having us.”

“You’re very welcome,” Melissa tells her, then nods at Stiles. “It was a hard fought war with him, but I can say I’m victorious.” 

He grins at that, glancing at his dad, who rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “As long as he doesn’t give you half as much crap as he always did me when I tried to feed him healthy food.” 

Scott grins, too, taking a drink of his water and rubbing his thumb over the back of Kira’s hand. 

“You guys know I’m right here, right?” Sheriff says, pausing mid-bite.

“Did anyone hear that?” Stiles frowns, glancing around. “It sounded like someone was talking but…” He shakes his head. “Must have been my imagination.” 

“I can take back the whole thing about missing you,” he grumbles back at Stiles, then takes another bite of food.

“Yeah but it’d be a lie.” He smirks at his dad and then glances at Lydia, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “So there’s actually...something I wanted to tell you guys. Well, something _Lydia_ and I wanted to tell you. Considering we’re just both moving back here kind of on a whim, we got to talking and it seemed like it would be smart to pool our resources.” 

“Pool your resources?” Scott echoes, glancing from Kira to Lydia and Stiles. 

“Yeah, we were talking and it just makes sense for us to share something,” Lydia adds. Both so that it’s cheaper and in her case, so that she’s not alone.

“Like-- a house?” Kira asks.  
“Sort of? It’s a duplex actually,” Stiles tells her with a small smile. “The rent is fantastic.” 

“And it’s pretty big,” Lydia adds, smiling too, her face a little brighter as she glances at Stiles. 

He meets her eyes, his own brightening, oblivious to the looks of surprise they’re getting from almost everyone in the room. 

“Well, that’s great,” Kira says cheerfully, mostly to break up the somewhat awkward silence. “And Scott and I can help you guys get moved in and everything. When are you moving in anyway?” 

“This weekend,” Stiles admits. “Didn’t see the point in paying for a motel room since we already signed the lease.” 

“We signed today,” she supplies, smiling softly as she looks over at Kira.

Melissa sits up slightly, nodding as she smiles a little between them. “I’m sure Scott will be happy to help with the moving.” 

Scott blinks a couple of times, pressing his lips together in a small smile and nodding. “Yeah, of course. Liam and Mason are supposed to be home this weekend from school so they can probably help too.” 

“We probably...don’t need an _over_ abundance of help. I definitely don’t have that much stuff here,” Stiles tells him.

“I don’t have that much, either,” Lydia admits, now focusing on Scott and more importantly, the look on his face. 

“Well clearly this requires an Ikea trip, then,” Kira says excitedly.

“Yeah and we can probably find some cool stuff at some of those second-hand stores, too,” Stiles agrees. The look on Scott’s face isn’t lost on him, and he’s trying not to meet his dad’s eyes at all. 

“And more importantly, this means we get to keep all you kids in town in the foreseeable future,” Melissa says, not so discreetly nudging the Sheriff’s leg with her foot.

Lydia shifts uncomfortably on her chair, but smiles softly at Melissa, nodding. 

Noah takes a deep breath and glances at Melissa sideways, then over at Lydia and Stiles. “I’ll take the weekend off and help however I can.” 

“Thank you,” Lydia says politely, then glances toward Stiles before focusing on her food again. Something about her and Stiles sharing a place clearly made both his dad and Scott very uncomfortable and that’s obvious. She’s just not sure what. She knows Scott doesn’t hate her, she doesn’t think the Sheriff does, either. But she can’t blame them if they think somehow Jackson is going to show up on their door step and cause problems for Stiles. She knows Jackson won’t but she can’t really blame them for being protective.

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles agrees quietly. He glances at Lydia sideways and reaches out under the table, covering her hand with his own and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Maybe we can have some kind of housewarming party or something when we get settled. You know, so you can all buy us stuff we don’t have,” he jokes. 

Kira chuckles. “Yeah well just remember Scott and I are facing the same issue.” 

“Clearly we need two parties, then.” Lydia says, smiling a little more at Kira, then squeezing Stiles’ hand back. Because it is reassuring and it helps more than she thought anything would. 

“Oh, or a joint party!” she adds, smiling back at Lydia. 

“We could definitely do that,” Lydia agrees. It’s been awhile since she threw a party she actually enjoyed.

“Let’s plan that. I haven’t been to a party in ages,” Kira tells her excitedly. Plus, helping Lydia plan parties is fun. 

Stiles raises his eyebrows and glances at Scott. “We’re going to end up with so much furniture.” 

Scott smiles a little. “Hopefully we can fit all of it in the houses.” 

***

Thirty minutes later, after they’ve helped clear the table and do the dishes, Stiles spots Kira and Lydia heading to sit out back on the patio and his dad and Melissa usher him and Scott out of the kitchen and tell them to go relax. He glances at Scott and shrugs, leading the way out of the kitchen and toward the front door. “I think I need to walk or I’ll go into a food coma,” he tells his friend.

“Yeah,” Scott agrees, glancing at Stiles as they make their way outside. “So, you’re moving.”

“Well, I never planned on living in a motel forever,” Stiles says with raised eyebrows.

“Right. But dude…” Scott stares at him for a moment. “With Lydia?”

“It’s frugal?” he responds after a moment. 

“Would be cheaper to move back to your old bedroom,” he points out.

“And deal with the possibility of walking in on our parents making out? No thanks,” he says wryly.

Scott frowns at that, then shakes his head. “Okay, but Stiles. Is this such a good a idea? Moving in with her?”

He’s quiet for a moment as they walk. “I’m not the same person I was five years ago, Scott.” His voice is lower than before. “And neither is she. We’re adults now. Things are different.” He’s not sure if he’s trying hard to convince Scott or himself more.

“Five years ago, you picked up and moved literally to the other side of the country because she was getting married,” Scott says, his voice quieter. 

Stiles winces at that and looks away, exhaling. It’s not like his friend is wrong. He knows that if things had gone differently, he never would have headed to the East coast, regardless of the possibilities and opportunities that were on the table. “I’m not -- holding onto any kind of illusions here,” he tells Scott honestly. “I don’t expect this is going to be a thing that...alters who we are to each other. It isn’t like that.” 

“So you expect you guys are just going to remain roommates for-- ever?” Scott asks carefully. Because he doesn’t want to crush Stiles, but he doesn’t want him to get hurt later, either.

“Probably not, no. Someday she’s going to find someone who’s actually worthy of her and fall in love and move out,” Stiles responds, voice even, giving nothing away about he feels about that scenario. Scott knows him too well anyway. “But what I can do is help her get to that point. Help her heal from everything that’s happened and be there for her as a friend.” Like high school.

“And what happens to you when she moves out? Or worse, if she brings someone home that you don’t think is worthy of her?” Because Lydia has never really made great decisions about her love life before. 

“I kill him and find her a better boyfriend?” Stiles jokes, glancing at Scott. 

Scott stares at Stiles worriedly in response. He does think this is entirely likely to happen.

“Hey, if I didn’t kill _Jackson_ I think you can assume it’s a joke, Scott.” 

“Look, I just-- you need to think about this more carefully. I love Lydia, but, I don’t think this is going to be good for you,” he says sincerely, shrugging a shoulder.

“And I get that, and I appreciate that you’re trying to look out for me,” Stiles says sincerely, patting him on the back. “But I know what I’m doing.” 

Scott nods, smiling a little. “I hope you do.” 

So does he. 

***

_”I know what I’m doing,” Stiles says into his phone as he climbs out of the back of the cab, glancing up at the apartment building in front of him. “I’ll call you later, Scottie.” He hangs up the phone, pays the driver and stares up at the building as the cab drives away. He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath before striding up the walkway and pressing the call button to the apartment that he knows is Lydia and Jackson’s._

_“Hello?” Lydia answers a moment later._

_He hasn’t seen her in almost a year and he knows there’s a correlation to that and the sudden surge of panic he feels. She might not _want_ to see him. She’d left Beacon Hills for a myriad of reasons, and leaving her past behind is probably a good third of that. He doesn’t blame her at all. He gets it. Beacon Hills isn’t full of overwhelmingly great memories for him either, but he’s stuck there. _

_“Pizza delivery?” he tries, scratching the back of his neck._

_There’s a long pause at that. Because the voice sounds _familiar_ , but she knows there’s no way it could possibly be him. So she shakes her head. “You’ve got the wrong apartment.”_

_“I don’t think I do. I’m pretty sure I’ve got the right place.” He smiles because he knows she knows now it’s him. “And I have it on good authority that the beautiful lady of this apartment doesn’t really care for cold pizza.”_

_“...Stiles?” she asks carefully, a moment later._

_“Hey, Lyds.” It feels weird to be standing there talking to her through an intercom system. “Uh, can I come up?”_

_She doesn’t say anything, just buzzes the door open for him in response._

_He holds his breath and pushes his way through the door, ignoring the elevator and taking the steps up to her apartment two at a time. He reaches out and knocks on the door when he makes it to the third floor. If Jackson had been there, he probably wouldn’t have made it this far. He has a chance. It’s small, but plausible. At least that’s what he tells himself as he waits for her to answer the door._

_It only takes her a moment before she opens the door for him, a smile appearing on her face. “You did actually bring pizza,” she says, shaking her head as she steps aside so he can come in._

_“Told you.” He smiles at her and holds the box out to her as he steps inside the apartment._

_She takes the box and leads him toward the dining room. “Thank you. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but-- what are you doing here?”_

_“It’s been almost a year since I saw you.” He follows her, heart pounding heavily in his chest. “A guy can’t just visit a friend without having his motivations questioned? Yeeesh.” His voice is light even if he feels anything but._

_“It has been a long time,” she agrees. And she didn’t miss the fact that he hasn’t been saying much in the group text they’re both in. But she keeps her smile on her lips and motions at the table. “Have a seat, I’ll grab us some plates.”_

_He doesn’t feel like sitting, but he does lean against the table, watching her. “This is a nice apartment,” he comments, chewing his thumbnail._

_“Thanks,” she calls from the kitchen, coming back a moment later with place settings for both of them. “Jackson’s father owns a lot of real estate down here, so he’s letting us rent this one from him.”_

_He should have guessed that much, but it hadn’t occurred to him. “How are things going?”_

_“Pretty good,” she answers, smiling softly. “School and work have been keeping me busy but it should mean I get the summer off to focus on wedding planning,” she says as she sits down, motioning for him to do the same. “What about you?”_

_“Same ole,” he responds, tapping his fingers lightly against the table as he sits, eyes darting to the engagement ring on her left hand. “Nothing interesting.” His leg bounces up and down beneath the table._

_“And what brings you to LA?” she asks, reaching to open the pizza box. She does notice he seems-- nervous, maybe? But he’s always been energetic._

_“I got your invitation.” His voice comes out a lot calmer than he thought it might, considering the very thought of Lydia marrying Jackson makes him want to throw up._

_She smiles a little as she holds the box out for him to grab a slice. “Can you make it?”_

_He gazes at her intently, trying to read her expression. “Lydia, are you sure this is what you want? What you really want?”_

_Lydia pauses at that. She lowers the box back down slowly, keeping her eyes on him. “I’m sorry?”_

_He knows he should tread lightly. They haven’t seen each other in a long time, but this...it isn’t something he can bring himself to tread lightly about. Not with everything that’s at stake. Not with everything that could go wrong. “Look.” He drops his voice a little, trying to at least be sensitive about it. “This -- this isn’t who you are, Lydia. Not really. We all know it. Except maybe Jackson.”_

_She arches her eyebrows slowly, keeping her expression neutral. “I haven’t seen you in over a year, Stiles. In the past three years, we barely had conversations that lasted more than five minutes. So _why_ exactly, you think you know anything about what’s going on in my relationship and what is the best decision for my life?”_

_He takes a deep breath at that, looking down at the table and pressing his lips together. “I know I haven’t been a great friend in the last -- three years.” There’s guilt in his voice, and he knows it’s true. He’s not a good friend -- he’s self-absorbed and selfish in general, but he _knows_ this isn’t going to result in anything good for her. “But this -- you. Here. At UCLA?” He lifts his gaze to look at her again. “Lydia, you only came here because it’s what he wanted. He doesn’t care about what’s best for _you_. Now you’re going to marry him? You can do better than this. You _deserve_ better than this.” _

_Lydia just stares at him in disbelief for a long time. This isn’t the first conversation they’ve had about this. About Jackson. But she won’t let herself lose control the way she did last time. She’s not sixteen anymore. “I don’t think I need to remind you that I wasn’t _able_ to apply to any of the Ivy League schools after I missed three months of classes my Senior year because I was catatonic in an insane asylum. Do you even know about all of the research I’m working on in the Math department? And-- actually, never mind that, are _you_ even going to school at all? Because last _Scott_ told me, you weren’t.”_

_He stares back at her, shaking his head. “This isn’t about _me._ This is about you. And yeah, I’m sure you’re doing amazing things for UCLA, but is it doing amazing things for _you_?” There’s a beat before he goes on, sitting forward in his chair a little. “Lydia, I know you didn’t get to apply because of what happened senior year, but what’s stopping you now? You’ve got a year under your belt here, which more than makes up for the little bit you missed in high school, and when any Ivy league school sees your grades -- they’re going to be thrilled to get you at whatever school you’d pick. Harvard, Yale, Oxford, MIT. What’s stopping you? Honestly?” Because he’s pretty sure he knows the answer, and it makes him hate Jackson just a little bit more than he already did. _

_She lets out a breath and smiles, but it’s humourless. “It must be really nice to be you, Stiles. To feel entitled enough that you think you can come in here, tell me I’m making all the wrong choices and hope that I will magically drop everything I have in my life because _you_ said so.” Lydia sits up, eyes narrowing a little. “And don’t pretend this is about _me_ , don’t pretend you care about what is best for _me_. This is all about _Jackson_ and your weird obsession with hating him, because what? He threw sand at you at the sandbox when you were both six years old?” _

_Stiles gapes at her. “All I’ve _ever_ wanted is what’s best for you,” he says in obvious disbelief. “I don’t give two shits about Jackson.” His jaw tightens. She has no idea, and he knows that’s his own fault, because Scott had tried to get him to tell her, but he wouldn’t. He hadn’t ever thought it would last this long between them. “I’ve _never_ cared about Jackson. He’s the one who was so obsessed with Scott he tried to blackmail him into forcing Derek to give him the bite and look how _that_ turned out.”_

_“Do you even hear yourself?” she asks, sitting up. “You’re talking about things that happened when we were Sophomore in High School. Jackson’s changed. He’s not the same person he was when we were sixteen. But of course you would never _bother_ looking at it that way. It’s much easier for you to come in here and accuse him of ruining my life.” _

_He forces himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Jackson’s changed. Is he nice to you? Does he treat you well and like you’re not a burden to him when you want something he’s not interested in?” He watches her intently. “Or does he treat you like a trophy?”_

_Lydia arches her eyebrows more, cocking her head. “Says a lot about what you think about _me_ , if you think I’d stay with someone like what you’re describing for all these years.”_

_“Deflection is a classic denial technique, Lydia.” And he would know. “And maybe it’s more that I’ve got some insight into how you think about yourself than what I think of you.” He leans back in his seat. “A lot of people stay with people who aren’t good for them for a lot of reasons.” And he knows plenty about _that_ , too. Too much, in fact. _

_“Maybe it’s not denial so much as the fact that I don’t _owe_ you any explanations? Did you even consider that, Stiles?” She asks sharply._

_Stiles meets her eyes, then nods slowly. “You’re right. You don’t owe me anything,” he says sincerely. “And I swear to God I didn’t come here to try and make you feel otherwise. I’ve never wanted you to feel like you owe me or anyone else _anything_.” _

_“Then _why_ did you come? To tell me to not marry the guy you know I’ve been engaged to for over a week? That I’ve been dating on and off since I was fifteen? That I’ve been living with for over a year? Is that your plan? Because _you_ don’t think he’s good enough for me?”_

_He pauses, gazing at her. “To make sure, as a friend, that you’re okay and that this is _really_ what you want.” To make sure he hasn’t laid a finger on Lydia. Because if he has, Stiles knows exactly what he’ll do and it won’t be pretty for Jackson this time. “Because deep down, I think there’s some part of you that still believes this is the best you can do and I _know_ it isn’t.” His voice is quiet now. _

_“That’s the thing, Stiles.” She actually stands up, because she can’t bring herself not to. Because she needs to feel in control. “I don’t know what warped image you have of me, or what _you_ think about what is best for me. But I _am_ marrying Jackson. I’m in LA with him. And these are choices I made for _myself_ because this is what I _want_.”_

_Stiles looks up at her for a long moment, silent, then rises to his feet, too, pressing his lips together. His hands are shaking slightly but he keeps them pressed against his sides. “Is he kind to you?” He steps closer to her, intent, searching her eyes._

_Lydia smirks a little. “I’m not discussing my relationship with you, Stiles.”_

_“You don’t have to,” he says softly, eyes sad. “You just told me everything I needed to know.”_

_“You should leave,” she says, her expression hardening once more._

_“Guess that makes two of us,” he answers, shoulders dropping as he moves past her, heading toward the door. The difference was, one of them was._


	4. Chapter 4

Overall, it was a pleasant evening at the Stilinski’s. She felt like the awkwardness dissipated after dinner, and she actually had a really nice time catching up with Kira, planning their next shopping trips for house stuff. By the time they get back to the jeep, though, she can’t help but be a little worried about the look on Stiles’ face. “You okay?”

The look on his face is a faraway one, mostly because his conversation with Scott had triggered a lot of deeply buried emotions and memories. As it turns out, neither was buried that far and some tiny part of his brain was wondering if his best friend was right. He’s become even more guarded over the last few years than he had been in high school for a myriad of reasons, not the least of all that have to do with the same woman walking alongside him to the jeep right now. 

“Yeah.” He smiles a little at her, rests a hand at the small of her back as he guides her to the passenger side of the vehicle and opens the door for her. “You?” 

“Yeah,” she echoes, smiling softly at him. “Thanks for inviting me. It was nice catching up with Kira and seeing the Sheriff and Melissa again,” she admits quietly. She had been pretty nervous but overall, the two of them were very welcoming. Especially Melissa. 

“You’re basically family,” he tells he honestly, meeting her eyes momentarily and giving her a soft smile. “You’re welcome.” 

Lydia holds his gaze for a moment, but then her smile slips. She hesitates for a second. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure,” he promises, nodding. He waits until she’s climbed into the passenger seat before he closes the door quietly and draws in a breath, exhaling slowly as he circles the jeep and climbs into the driver’s seat. “I forgot how much of an amazing cook Melissa is. Definitely going to be crashing dinner here a lot.” 

She smiles a little at him when he comes into the car and nods. “Yeah, she’s really good.”

He glances back at her and then nods, sliding the keys into the jeep’s ignition. “Sorry things were a little awkward there for a minute,” he says as he shifts the vehicle into gear. He knows it’s on her mind, and he doesn’t want it lingering between them so he wants it out of the way.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. And normally she wouldn’t bring it back up, there’s not much of a point, anyway. But if Stiles is okay talking about it, might as well get it out there. “Do you know what they’re concerned about?”

He smiles ruefully as he focuses on the road ahead of them. “I have a pretty good idea,” he confesses, fingers tightening a bit on the steering wheel. “I haven’t really -- spent much time around other girls since Malia.” 

She frowns a little, confused. Because that’s pretty far from what she’d expected. “They think I’m gonna get in the way of you dating?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Not exactly, but he also doesn’t want her to worry that he’s going to start obsessing over her the way he had so many years ago. “I just told Scott dating’s not really high on my priority list at this point.” 

Dating again is something that terrifies her and the last thing she wants to think about right now. But this isn’t about her. “If you feel like I’m getting in the way of anything, I want you to tell me, okay?”

“Lydia, you’ve never gotten in the way of anything I’ve done,” he says softly. “So don’t worry.” 

“Okay, but just tell me,” she says again, smiling a little. “I know this roommate situation isn’t going to be permanent. I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck with me if you’re ready to move on.” And for some reason, that idea makes her chest tighten painfully, but she’s good at ignoring that feeling.

So is he, so he gives her a tight smile and nods. “Yeah. You too. I mean I know that’s not -- probably on your agenda right now, but if you get sick of me or whatever, just tell me.” It won’t be the first time he’s taken off without much warning.

“It’s really not, but I will,” she assures him. She really thinks if anyone moves on, it will be him, though. So she knows it’s not something she needs to worry about.

“Good.” He’s dying for a topic change, but nothing springs immediately to mind so he reaches out and fiddles with the radio, glancing at her sideways. 

She glances back at him and smiles a little. “I’m going shopping with Kira as soon as we move, if you wanna come and pick up things for yourself, you’re welcome to.”

Stiles grimaces at that, mock shuddering. “I’m hanging out with Scott that day,” he teases.

Lydia rolls her eyes but smiles. “Your choice, I hope you’re not in need of a bed, or you know, furniture in general.” 

He chuckles. “I’m used to not having a bed and much furniture. It really won’t be much of a change for me.” 

“Okay, Stiles. Let’s get something clear: I refuse to live in a dorm, or let you go back to living in a dorm.” Part of her is teasing. But part of her, not so much. She wants him to have an actual bed and not that crap he’s been sleeping on at the motel.

“Hey, for the last year I was in an actual apartment. I just didn’t own much furniture.” He smirks.

“Okay, but you’re at least getting a bed,” she says, arching her eyebrows. “You’re not eighteen anymore, you know?”

“Oh, trust me. I’m aware. Sometimes I feel like I’m forty.” And truthfully sleeping on a plain mattress probably wasn’t a great thing for his body, even if he’s sure he could handle it again if he had to.

“So if you don’t come, I’m picking you a bed myself. It might sparkle. It might include a pink canopy. It’s your choice.”

He narrows his eyes and shoots her a sideways look. “And I’ll get a pet boa constrictor if you do,” he warns.

“I’ll be really sad the day my dog accidently kills it,” she says, making a mock sad face at him. 

He snorts. “You don’t _have_ a dog,” he points out.

“I will if you have a pet boa constrictor,” she says, arching her eyebrows.

Stiles smirks. “What if I’m allergic?” 

“You’re not allergic to dogs. Or wolves. Or any other type of canine, so your argument is invalid,” she points out with a shrug.

His mouth drops open. “I _could_ be! You don’t know. People develop allergies all the time!” 

“Glad we had this conversation,” she teases. “You can come back when you have a valid argument.”

“The point is, _no_ sparkly pink anything in my room. I can pick out my own furniture and not crash girl’s day, thank you,” he snarks.

“Fine, just promise me you’re actually gonna get a real bed. And if you plan on getting one online, you probably need to order it as soon as you get back,” she says, smirking softly at him.

“Yes, fine, I’ll get a real bed. For the record, the motel room bed wasn’t bad, either, considering I’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor.” He makes a face at her and turns back to the road.

“You will need decent sleep if you wanna solve every crime that has ever happened in Beacon Hills, Stiles.” This time, she has an actual smile on her lips.  
“I mean, that’s probably a bit of a stretch anyway. I just want to solve all the supernatural crimes that have ever happened in Beacon Hills.” He smiles back. 

“It’s Beacon Hills, they’re probably all connected, you know that,” she teases.

“That is...probably fairly accurate.” He shrugs. All too soon he’s pulling up in front of her mom’s house and into the driveway, shifting the jeep into park. 

Lydia glances at the house, then smiles a little at him. “Thanks for the ride. And dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, returning the smile and meeting her eyes. “See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, hopefully we can get the keys early and get started on things,” she replies with a smile. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Night, Lydia,” he says softly. 

She looks at him for a moment longer, smiling, then reaches for the door and climbs out of the car. Just as she starts toward the door, the light on the porch comes on and she pauses, rolling her eyes. She glances back at Stiles, shaking her head and giving him a quick wave before starting back into the house. This is going to be a fun conversation.

Stiles grimaces at the sight of the porch light, but lifts his hand to wave back at her before reluctantly backing up out of the driveway and hoping her mom doesn’t manage to talk her out of their plans. 

Lydia walks into the house feeling like she’s fifteen again. It takes a couple of deep breaths to remind herself that she’s not. But when she does, she pulls her purse from over her shoulder. “Mom? I didn’t realize you’d still be up,” she calls out before Natalie can come find her.

“It’s not that late, Sweetheart,” Natalie points out, taking a sip of her wine and arching an eyebrow as she steps out of the kitchen. 

“It’s not. Is there a reason you were turning on the porch light if you were not concerned about the time?” she asks casually as she walks further into the house.

“Well, it is after dark,” she responds just as casually. “Would you like a glass of wine?” 

“Sure,” Lydia agrees, dropping her purse on the small table by the door before starting toward the kitchen. “I want to talk to you about something, if you have the time now.”

“Of course.” She leans against the counter as she pours Lydia a glass of wine. There’s a troubled smile on her face as she waits to hear what her daughter has to say.  
“Thank you,” Lydia says as she reaches for the glass. She’s been avoiding this conversation for weeks, since she and Stiles first talked about it. But considering they might begin the moving process tomorrow, she knows she needs to tell her. “I wanted to say thank you. For letting me stay here, I know it’s been disruptive on your life, but I’ve found a place so it won’t be for much longer.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, that’s wonderful.” Natalie smiles at her and holds up her glass. “I was so hoping things with you and Jackson would work themselves out.” 

It feels like a punch in the stomach. After everything Jackson did, to hear her own mother say she wants her to get back together with him. But she’s had years of practice, so instead of reacting, she just takes a long sip of her wine, then smiles. “Oh, I’m never getting back together with Jackson. I’m moving in with Stiles. We’re sharing a house closer to downtown.”

The smile slips off her mom’s face, disappointment replacing it. “And what kind of stability do you expect to have with Stiles?” 

“The same I’d have by myself, with some good company,” she answers, feeling like her blood is starting to boil with anger. “I’m not marrying him, mom. I’m moving in with a friend.” 

“You’re moving in with someone who regularly endangered your _life_ , Lydia.” Her voice is upset. 

“He also saved my life, mom. And unlike my ex-husband, Stiles _respects_ me,” she points out, her voice slightly less harsh. Because even though she hates that her mom sides with Jackson, she also knows that partially this comes from a place of genuine concern.

“Sweetheart, respect doesn’t mean much if you’re dead.” Her voice is quiet and she sets her wine glass down, rubbing a hand over her face. “I’m going to bed. Just...think about what I said.” 

“Mom,” Lydia calls out for her, setting her own glass down. “I know you worry about me. But I need to start building my life again. And I want to do this. I’ll be safe, I promise. And I’ll be just five minutes away.”

Natalie pauses on the steps. “And a few years ago even living under the same roof I couldn’t keep you safe.” She tries to smile but doesn’t manage it, turning and heading up the stairs.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Lydia calls out, then sighs softly when she hears her mom continue upstairs without a pause. She sips on her wine and leans against the counter. She knew it wouldn’t go well, but she expected a little better than this.

***

“So, okay. There’s good news and there’s bad news.” Stiles pokes his head into the bedroom Lydia’s currently hanging pictures in. “Which do you want first?” 

She pauses, glancing at him for a moment then adjusting the crooked painting on her wall for a second. “Okay, bad, just start with the bad.”

“Your bed isn’t arriving til tomorrow afternoon.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“What? Are you serious? Did you just check on the tracking number?” She asks, face falling as she reaches for her phone that is sitting on top of the boxes of clothes.

“I talked to the company. There’s a delay because of a storm that grounded some flights yesterday,” he explains. 

Lydia groans quietly and frowns. “I guess I’m going back home tonight after all.”

“Oh come on. I don’t have a bed yet either,” he points out. “One bedless night won’t be the end of the world, Lydia. Plus? I have a plan.” 

“I do have a bed, just not here,” she points out, cocking her head. “What is your plan?”

He ignores the first part of what she says. “Blanket fort in the living room,” he informs her. 

“A fort? You want to literally build a fort?” she asks, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Hell yes. Come on, it’ll be a blast.” He leans on the doorframe, grinning. “We can camp out in front of the fireplace.” 

“The fireplace?” she smirks. “You realize we’re in California, in the middle of the Summer, right?”

“We can turn the AC way down,” he points out. “And pretend. Come on, Lydia. Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

Lydia stares at him for a moment, then smirks. “Fine, but you’re getting firewood. And I’m making hot chocolate.” 

“Deal. I’m also making smores.” He winks at her and ducks back into the hallway.

She smiles softly and shakes her head, watching him go for a moment before she starts up on her decoration again. Then she pauses and pokes her head out on the hallway. “Stiles?”

“Yeah?” He turns when he’s halfway down the hall.

“What about the good news?” She asks, arching her eyebrows. “Or was that your master plan to build a fort?”

“Well, that was the master plan, yeah. But the good news is -- I ordered dinner and it’ll be here in a half hour.” He smiles.

She smiles back at him. “That is good, I’m starving. Thank you.”

Stiles nods and heads back down the hall toward his own room, which is completely empty except for a few clothes he’s already put in his closet. And the jacket laying in the middle of his floor. He frowns a little and picks it up, putting it on a hanger and placing it in his closet with a perturbed look.

“Hey, I have this box,” Lydia pauses by the door of his bedroom and arches her eyebrows at the look on his face. “You okay?”

He blinks a couple times, then glances over to where she’s standing. “Yeah, just thought I had all my stuff hung up already and...guess I didn’t. What box?” 

“Of pillows,” she says, frowning a little. “I was thinking of bringing it downstairs.”

“Oh.” He smiles at that, letting it go and moving toward her. “I’ll grab it for you if you want to keep hanging stuff up.” 

“It’s not exactly heavy,” she teases, smirking up at him. “But I want you to help me check if the pictures are in a good placement.”

He tries not to smirk back at her, but his lips quirk upwards. “You’re a math and science genius, Lydia. I kinda doubt you messed up picture placement.” 

“I have also been looking at them for a long time and I’d like a second opinion,” she points out.

“I’m your guy,” he assures her, following her out of his room and toward hers.

“Mhmm,” she teases, glancing at him and pausing when she sees one of her paintings is almost sideways. “I guess that one was loose.”

Stiles cocks his head. “Okay, where’s your hammer?” 

“Here,” she says as she picks it up and holds it out to him.

“Thank you.” He studies the nail for a second, notices it’s just slightly bent. “Ah, there’s our reason. I think you found a stud behind the wall. It bent the nail.” He uses the claw part of the hammer to pull it free and holds it out to her.

“Weird, I don’t remember it being harder to hammer in than the others, but we can just move it slightly higher, shouldn’t be a big deal.” 

“Fair enough.” He bends down to grab another nail from the toolbox and hammers it carefully into the drywall before moving the picture to hang there and backing up to make sure it’s straight.

“Looks good to me now,” she says, smiling softly at him. 

He glances at her, expression softening at the smile on her face. “Good.” 

“You think the other two are straight?” she asks, pointing at the opposite wall. 

He looks over at them and nods. “Yeah, looks good to me.” Stiles glances around. “Anymore need hung up?” 

“Nope, that’s all I have for now. I’m keeping my options open, though. For when I go shopping, in case I find new things.” 

“I have the utmost faith you will.” Because he’s gone shopping with Lydia before. Maybe not for a long time, but something like that stays with a person forever. There’s amusement in his eyes. 

She glares at him, then smirks. “Okay, do you want my pillows for your fort or not?”

“And your blankets,” he agrees, not bothered by the glare.

“I suppose you can have them,” she says, reaching to pick up the box and holding it out to him. “I’ll bring down the rest.”

He takes the box from her and winks playfully before turning and heading out of the room and down the stairs. “Thanks!” 

Lydia picks up her still folded blankets and starts downstairs after him. “What did you order for us?” she asks once she reaches the living room.

“Chinese,” he answers as he he starts arranging things on the floor. “You mentioned this morning you hadn’t had it in awhile.” 

“I haven’t, it sounds really good. And eating out of boxes is probably a smart idea tonight,” she adds, dropping the blankets onto a pile. “So how should we do this?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never made a blanket fort.” 

“I had a barbie camping tent, I didn’t need to build a fort,” she points out, arching her eyebrows.

He groans at that. “You were deprived as a child,” he complains. “Okay we need to bring the dining room chairs in here.” 

“Oh, so we do need to have actual furniture to do this? Interesting.” And yes, she’s one hundred percent mocking him and his belief he doesn’t need to own anything.

He narrows his eyes at her, squinting. “You think you’re funny but you’re not.” 

“I’m not trying to be funny. Just-- pointing out the fact that you do, indeed, need my furniture.” And the dining room table had been a pain in the ass to transport back from LA, but it’s an antique and Jackson doesn’t deserve nor appreciate it, so she refused to leave it behind.

Stiles gives her a disbelieving look before getting up to retrieve the dining room chairs, carrying them in two at a time until all six are there. “Okay now we need to find the lightest blankets and sheets we have first.” 

“Sheets, with or without elastic?” she says, picking up the two she has.

“Without,” he answers, pulling out the one he has, too.

“Here,” she says, reaching out and handing him her elastic-less sheet.

“Thanks.” He takes it from her with a smile and stretches the sheet out over the chairs. “Now we weight the sheet down on the chairs. With books or something.” He glances around, and moves to grab his own box of things that he hasn’t taken to his room yet. He starts laying them on top of the ends of the sheet. 

Lydia watches him curiously, then stares at one of the other books he put on the floor. She picks up another random one and switches them out so she can read the one he had down. “Banshee mythology?” 

He pauses when she snatches up the book, but he doesn’t try to grab it away from her. He’s not trying to hide anything from her. “Yeah. Got it from - a source in D.C.,” he tells her.

“A source,” she quotes, arching her eyebrows as she glances at him before she starts flipping through the book. “How mysterious.”

“An emissary,” he clarifies. 

“Oh.” She frowns slightly at that information. “A good one?”

“That -- depends on your definition of good?” He arches his eyebrows.

“Did they try to kill you?” she asks, figuring that’s a good enough start.

“Nope. I saved her alpha’s life and she owed me one.” He shrugs. “Kinda how the whole emissary thing works. You pay off your debts one way or another.” 

“Did you meet a lot of them?” she asks curiously, setting the book aside on the dining table so she can read it later.

“Emissaries?” He cocks his head, then shakes it. “Just a couple. The packs there are pretty territorial. At least the ones I met.” 

“It’s weird that there are actual packs in other cities,” she admits, then starts helping him secure the sheets.

He wants to point out to her that the alpha pack hadn’t formed in Beacon Hills, but he doesn’t want to push her, either. He doesn’t want to remind her of Aiden or Allison. “You can keep the book if you want,” he says after a moment, straightening the sheet he’d secured.

“I’m just curious to read it, but thank you.” She hasn’t really touched anything supernatural since she moved away. And although she doesn’t want to dive back in, having some conversations about things like this with Stiles seem okay.

He tries to ignore the pang of disappointment he feels because he’s not really surprised by her answer. He doesn’t even blame her for not wanting anything to do with all of the supernatural stuff again. “Okay.” He reaches for one of the heavier blankets now and carefully drapes it over the sheets. 

She doesn’t miss the look on his face, but decides not to comment on it. Instead, she reaches out and tugs on the blanket, helping him stretch it over the sheets.

***

“So anyway, it turned out not to be supernatural at all, which was good because that would have been kind of difficult to explain to the local police,” Stiles tells her, laying back and staring up at the blankets draped over them. 

“Especially when you don’t have the local Sheriff being your dad,” she points out, sipping on her wine and arching her eyebrows at him. “How many stories like this do you have?”

“Exactly,” he agrees with a smirk, turning his head toward her. He considers the question and raises his eyebrows. “More than I probably _should_?” 

“And you didn’t get arrested?” she asks. “Not even once?”

“I made some friends in high places.” Aka, in the FBI. “It was a close call a couple times though.” 

“At least you made friends, I suppose.” She smiles a little. And she wants to ask him for details but if he was comfortable sharing, she assumes he would.

“Which reminds me.” He sits up a little, checks his email and re-reads the one his buddy had sent a couple days before. Sure enough there’s an update and he smirks. “They got the killer in New York.” 

“Oh?” she cocks her head at that information. “Was it supernatural-related?”

“No. It just seemed like it might be. The killer was painting inverted pentagrams on the victim’s walls after he killed them,” he explains. “Made it seem like it was witchcraft, but it was just to throw them off.” 

“I don’t imagine the people of the neighborhood feel very comforted by that,” she points out, arching her eyebrows.

He blinks a couple times and glances over at her. “Well _no_. I mean people are still dead, but it would’ve been a lot more difficult to catch the guy if he really had been a witch.” 

Lydia nods slightly and sips on her wine. “I guess regular murders wouldn’t pop up on a banshee radar, either way,” she comments quietly, eyes unfocused as she thinks back about how it used to feel.

Stiles shuts his phone off and shifts so he’s lying down again, this time on his side facing her, hand propping up his head. “So not a single banshee feeling after you left Beacon Hills?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” she admits quietly, shrugging a shoulder. 

He studies her, then nods, picking up his own wine glass and taking a drink. He’s not sure what to think about that, because from everything he’s picked up the last few years, it doesn’t matter whether death is supernatural-related or not. He also is fully aware that denial is a deeply powerful weapon that can defend against things you don’t want to deal with, or for whatever reason, _can’t_ deal with. She’d been horribly traumatized at Eichen House and his chest tightens as familiar guilt squeezes at his heart. She’d been in there for _three months._ And he hadn’t been able to help her. To protect her. “That’s good.” 

“I guess so,” she admits quietly, looking down at her nearly empty glass. “It’d be hard to explain why I zoned out and showed up next to a dead body to the LAPD.” 

“Yeah, no kidding.” And he knows that LA isn’t exactly low on the death count. 

“I guess it’s for the best,” she whispers quietly, then takes a deep breath. “Better than ending up like my grandmother.” Again.

He tenses involuntarily at that, his mind flashing back to the night they’d been held hostage in Eichen by Brunski. He’d been sure she’d been about to die. He reaches out without thinking about it, laying a hand on her arm. 

She frowns a little at his reaction, blinking as she focuses on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he says quietly. “If you need to talk about that stuff, that’s what friends are for, right?” 

“Yeah,” Lydia says quietly, smiling a little. “I haven’t-- thought about any of this stuff in so long. I guess being back here is just reminding me of all of it,” she adds. 

He knows exactly what she means. Then again, it’s a big part of the reason he’d come back. He squeezes her arm gently and then lets his hand drop away. “Do you feel like you made the right choice?” 

She focuses on him for a long moment at the question. Because she can’t help but think back to the last conversation they had before seeing each other again. Before she got married. And for that, the answer would be no, but she’s not sure that’s what he’s asking. “Moving back home, you mean?”

“Yeah.” There’s no hesitation when she asks. He isn’t thinking about Jackson or her marriage right then, he’s just thinking about all of the terrible things they’d all been through in this town. 

“It felt like the only choice,” she admits, shrugging a shoulder. “I didn’t want to stay in LA and there was something comforting about being somewhere small and familiar again.” She half snorts and shakes her head. “Not sure why I felt that way, though. Since I moved back in with Jackson’s biggest fan.”

Stiles pauses at that, not entirely surprised by that. He remembers all too well how much Natalie Martin loved Jackson when they were in high school. Apparently some things never changed. “I guess she’s not taking the news very well.” Probably less well _now_ since she’s moved in with him.

“No,” Lydia sighs, drinking the rest of her wine, then taking a deep breath as she looks back at Stiles. “When I told her I was moving out, she assumed it was with him.”

He grimaces. He’s sure her mom was beyond disappointed when she learned the truth. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m sure it’s not easy to hear that from your mom.” 

She shrugs a shoulder in response. “She’s always been like that. And in a way, I don’t blame her? I think she hoped a lot of her own failed marriage would get fixed through mine working out.”

He breathes out a sigh and turns over so he’s on his back, staring up at the blankets above. He drums his fingers lightly on his stomach, the way he does when he’s nervous and wants to ask something that he’s not sure he really wants the answer to. “She’ll get past it eventually.” 

“Maybe,” Lydia says, noticing his fingers a moment later and focusing on them for a second, before looking up at his face. “You okay?”

Stiles offers her a faint smile. “Yep, I’m good.” 

“Did you talk to your dad after our dinner?” she asks, reaching for the bottle of wine and filling her glass halfway.

He watches her fill the glass and nods in response. “Yeah. Mostly about how I can do more than filing at the station. He seems to disagree.” Which isn’t surprising, really. He knows his dad wants to keep him out of the supernatural web he’d been caught up in during high school, but Stiles also knows that’s not realistic. Not in Beacon Hills, and not anywhere else he’d go. He knows too much. Seen too much.

Lydia nods slightly at that, but it’s not exactly what she’s asking. She holds the bottle out toward him. “Did you-- talk about dinner?”

Stiles takes the bottle from her, guilt gnawing at him. “A little. It’s --” He searches for the right way to express how to summarize that particular conversation with his dad. “He’s just worried that I won’t be able to handle living with you.” He pauses, grimacing. “Okay that’s not -- not because you’re hard to live with, but because of...all the stuff from the past.” 

 

“Oh…” her face falls a little and she looks away. They did have a rocky relationship for a while there. She didn’t think anyone had noticed, especially not the Sheriff. Not beyond the fact that they grew apart. But then, her mom feels protective of her when it comes to Stiles and Scott. Why should it be so different for the Sheriff to feel protective of his son when it comes to her. “It makes sense. He just worried about you.”

“Hey.” He sets the wine bottle down after pouring himself a little more. “Don’t worry about it, okay? This is going to be fine and he’ll realize his worries were completely unfounded.” There’s confidence in his voice and he and lifts his glass and takes a sip.

Lydia smiles slightly at him and nods. “I hope so,” she whispers quietly, looking at him for a moment before sipping on her glass.

“He will,” he echoes, searching her eyes. 

She holds his gaze for a moment, then nods again. Lydia purses her lips together, hesitating for a second. But the wine is helping her feel more relaxed and maybe say things she normally would hold back. “This is-- strange, isn’t it?”

He looks at her curiously. “What is?” 

“Us. Being here.” She shrugs a shoulder. “We were friends once but-- we haven’t really talked in what, six years?”

Stiles holds his breath for a moment, pressing his lips together. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “I guess it is in a way.” 

“And-- I guess we weren’t that close,” she adds. But as she does, she feels something weigh down on her chest. Almost feels like a lie.

This time he scoffs. “Okay.” 

She arches her eyebrows, sincerely surprised by his reaction. “What?”

He rolls his head to look at her, skeptical. “You’re kidding me, right?” Because if she really isn’t kidding -- no. They’d been close once. That had been _real_. “The summer after sophomore year. You’re basically the only person I even had contact with outside of my dad.” Scott had been in summer school, and studying for summer school when he wasn’t in class. “We were close once.” 

Lydia stares at him for a moment, pursing her lips together. That summer had been-- one of the most lonely times in her life. And he’s right. Aside from Stiles, she really only talked to her mother. “Okay, I’ll give you that summer-- but it feels like such a long time ago.” Like a lifetime ago.

“We were close for awhile after that.” Until he’d gotten possessed by the nogitsune and everything had spiraled out of control. That they hadn’t recovered from. He closes his eyes, drumming his fingers on his stomach again. He’s not sure that’s something they’ll ever completely recover from. 

“That period, everything that happened, it feels like a blur,” she admits, shifting so she’s laying back against the pillows next to him. “I guess I had forgotten about the day you showed up at my door with your box of ‘everything I needed to know’,” she says quietly, smiling a little.

Heat rises to his cheeks at that and he shakes his head. “Okay that part’s embarrassing.” 

**9 Years Ago**

He waits on the doorstep of the Martin’s home with a box tucked under his arm. It’s been exactly one week since the entire nightmare with the kanima and Gerard Argent came to an abrupt screaming halt and the bruises on his face have mostly faded. The ones elsewhere, less so, but they’re covered anyway. He’s wearing his favorite red hoodie and a pair of blue jeans and sneakers. 

He chews his lower lip as he waits for someone to answer the door. He’s been to Lydia’s house a handful of times in his life, most of them pretty recent. But this is only the second time he’s been there to actually talk to her one on one. To say that he’s a little bit nervous after everything that happened a few days before is an understatement. _And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind._ No matter how true it is, he can’t believe he actually said that to her. Hell, he’d done more than that. He’d _yelled_ at her, like an asshole. 

Natalie opens the door a moment later. She smiles at the boy, cocking her head a little. Her smile slipping when she sees the box he’s carrying. “I’m sorry, but we’re not interested in buying anything.”

“Uh, I’m not -- selling anything,” he says in confusion. “Is Lydia here?” 

“Oh, yes.” Natalie glances back toward the house, the focuses on the boy a moment longer, trying to place him. “What’s your name again?”

“Stiles. Stilinski. Um, the sheriff’s son,” he offers, figuring that would be the thing that triggered her memory of him. 

“ _Right_ , the Sheriff’s son,” she echoes, nodding as she steps aside for him. “Come on in, I think Lydia is out by the pool. Will you let her know I’m heading out?”

It troubles him how easily Lydia’s mom trusts someone alone with her daughter that she doesn’t even know. Then again, he’s 147 pounds and probably looks about as non-threatening as he feels. He nods, stepping into the house. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Thank you,” she calls out as she reaches for her purse and keys before heading for the door again.

Stiles watches her go, then shakes his head as he makes his way out on the back patio, lingering in the doorway for a moment. “Lydia?” His voice is tentative. 

Instead of her, a tiny dog comes running and barking toward him. 

If the dog had been any bigger, he probably would have stumbled back into the house and closed the patio door, but...it’s tiny and kind of fluffy. Looks about as non-threatening as he does, he thinks wryly. “Hey puppy,” he greets quietly. 

“Prada?” Lydia calls out a moment later, getting up from the pool chair and walking toward the entrance. She pauses when she sees someone talking to Prada, who is suddenly quiet again and waggling his tail. 

Her eyes widen a little when she realizes who it is. “Stiles? What are you doing here?”

Stiles is knelt down petting the little dog when she speaks and he glances up at her momentarily, trying not to let his eyes linger on her because she’s in a bathing suit and he doesn’t want to be _that_ guy. “Uh, well. Allison sent me,” he admits after a moment of hesitation. “And then your mom said I could come back. And she asked me to let you know she was heading out.” 

“Allison is in _France_ ,” she points out, hands on her hips as she stares down at him. “And why would she send you here, anyway?” 

“I know. She called me last night.” At two in the morning, actually, because she’d forgotten about the time difference. He rises to his feet, drawing in a breath. “She asked me to come make sure you’re doing okay and uh --” He holds up the wooden box that was tucked under his arm. “Explain some stuff.” 

Her eyes narrow slightly at the box, she considers him for a moment, then shrugs. “Fine, wait for me inside.” She turns down to the dog. “Prada, inside.” And for some reason, he actually does obey her and rushes back to the living room.

Stiles steps back into the house, following Prada to the living room. It’s not lost on him that she ordered him in pretty much the same way she did her dog. 

Lydia takes her time getting back in. She dries herself off, even though she only had her feet in the pool, wraps a robe around herself and lets her hair down. She knows it’ll be freezing inside compared to the hundred plus degrees out by the pool. A moment later, she steps back into the house, closing the patio door. She notices Stiles sitting on the couch, and frowns a little at Prada sitting next to him. But she doesn’t say anything. 

He’s petting Prada’s ears absently, scrolling through his phone messages -- all three of them. Two from his dad, and one from Scott. He draws in a breath, unaware of her presence for the moment as he leans back, letting his shoulders drop. He has very mixed feelings about Allison Argent right now, after everything, but he absolutely believes she’s worried about Lydia. Which makes two of them, because he is too. Between Jackson’s abrupt departure to London with apparently no warning -- Scott’s words after his own conversation with Allison -- and Allison’s own trip to France -- it leaves Lydia virtually alone. Sure, she has other friends but he’s smart enough to know they’re superficial friendships and not like the one she shares with Allison. 

“So?” Lydia says finally when he doesn’t seem to notice her. 

He sits up quickly, startled, and drops the box onto the floor, making Prada bark down at it. “Sorry. I didn’t -- see you there.” He scrambles to pick up the box once more and carefully sets it on the table. 

She frowns a little at his mess, but shrugs and sits down on the armchair directly in front of him. “Let’s just make something clear. If this is about-- _him_ , I don’t wanna know. I don’t know what Allison was thinking sending you here or why she really did it, but I’m not interested in hearing a word about it.” And she keeps her expression tight, holding onto anger because even thinking his name makes her want to cry. 

Her words catch him a little off guard, because like he’d be coming there to try and talk to her about _Jackson Whittemore_ regardless of how much arm twisting Allison tried on him. “It’s not,” he assures her. “But she really did want me to check on you and make sure you were okay.” And not just today. Literally, she’s his summer assignment. But he’s not about to tell her that. “I’m sure she’d probably have sent Scott instead, but he’s in summer school.” 

“I’m fine,” she answers simply, arching her eyebrows as if daring him to tell her otherwise.

“Good,” he says just as simply, gazing at her intently for a moment. “Uh, so, we kinda thought maybe you’d wanna know more about...the other stuff. Now that you know -- about werewolves.” He scratches the back of his neck, leaning forward. 

“All I saw were a couple of _freaks_ jump out of nowhere and attack people,” she says, purposely leaving his name out again. “That’s all I _do_ know.” Aside from everything she’s been trying to piece together in her own head, but none of it makes actual sense.

He pauses at that, startled. “Wait, you mean Allison didn’t talk to you at all about any of this after?” 

Lydia glares at him, then arches her eyebrows and crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course not.” 

Stiles’ face falls at that, genuine surprise flickering through him. “I’m sorry. I just -- assumed,” he stammers, shaking his head and wanting to shake Allison. How could she _not_ make time to pull Lydia aside after that night and at least fill in some of the basics? 

“People assume a _lot_ ,” she says, her voice with a sharper edge to it at this point. She’s losing her patience. Both because she’s anxious to find the pieces she’s been missing, but also because she’s terrified of what Stiles has to tell her. Not to mention that part of her feels a sting of betrayal from her best friend. She clearly knows about-- everything that everyone except _her_ knows about. 

He winces at that and looks down at his hands before he nods, guilt obvious on his face. He thinks for a moment, then glances up at her, eyes lighting up with an idea. “Do you have a chess board?” 

That question throws her. She stares at him for a moment, considering. “Upstairs. Why?”

He rises to his feet, Prada whining a little in protest when he stops petting the pup. “Show me? I promise it’ll make sense.” 

***

Her head is spinning with all the information he just dumped on her. Very little of what he said is actually believable, but-- and she hates to admit it -- most of it does make sense considering the bits and pieces that she picked up on along the way. 

She stares down at the chessboard he set up for her, frowning for a moment. “So-- what about me?” she asks finally, her heart speeding up as she looks up to face him again.

Stiles hesitates a second and sits down across from her again. “You are -- an amazing anomaly?” he tries. 

“I nearly _died_ because that freak bit me,” she points out. “And I’m definitely not one of _them_ ” she says, pointing toward the werewolves.

His breath catches momentarily -- because he knows all too well how close she’d come to dying because of Peter Hale. “I know. That’s why you’re an anomaly. Apparently one of two things happen when an alpha werewolf bites you: you either die or you turn into a werewolf. But you...survived and you’re not a werewolf. From everything I’ve researched, there’s no indication this has ever happened before.” 

For a moment, she takes a deep breath. The glare she’d been giving him through a lot of this is gone and her voice is quieter when she finally asks: “Could I still die?”

“No,” he says with confidence. “It’s a pretty...immediate thing. If it doesn’t kill you within the first few hours, you’re good. Thankfully.” He gives her a hesitant smile. 

Lydia looks up and stares at him for a full moment, then lets her breath out, as she decides she believes him. “What about you?”

Stiles blinks a couple of times, thrown by the question. “What -- about me?” he asks uncertainly. 

“Where do you fit on the board?” she asks, arching her eyebrows.

Oh. He drops his gaze to the board and picks up a pawn, setting it on the outside of the board. “Here, somewhere, I guess.” 

She frowns at the pawn, then cocks her head at him. “Meaning? You’re human?”

“Yep. Plain old boring human,” he agrees easily. 

“Isn’t Allison technically human, too?” she asks, pointing toward the hunters on the board.

“Yeah. But she’s a hunter, which...is different.” 

Lydia considers him for a moment, then decides she doesn’t really want to talk about Allison right now, either. “How long have you known about all this?”

“About six months. Since the day after Scott was bitten.” He chews his thumbnail. 

Not that long before she was bitten herself. Lydia nods, then stares at Stiles for a moment. “Is there more than this?”

“Probably, yeah,” he says immediately, glancing up and meeting her gaze. “But uh -- other than stuff you said you don’t want to know about, this is pretty much all I know right now.” He exhales, rubbing a hand across his face and leaning back in the chair. “Lydia…” He hesitates a second. “Allison didn’t know for months either. When I said this stuff was dangerous --” His foot bounces on the floor under the table. 

“Dangerous just barely cracks the surface of all of it. Boyd and Erica have been missing for a week. No one knows what happened to them or where they are. They might be dead.” He has a feeling that’s probably going to turn out to be the case. He thinks briefly of how they’d tried to keep Lydia safe from Isaac and Erica and Boyd and Derek not that long ago, when that pack had been utterly convinced she was the kanima. “We weren’t trying to hurt your feelings by not including you. We were trying to keep you safe.” His voice is quiet and he drops his gaze to the board. 

She blinks a couple of times at his words, her chest suddenly feeling tight, so she quickly looks away. She has no idea how to deal with someone who’s not much more than a stranger telling her he was trying to help protect her. 

“If you’re worried I’m going to yell at Allison, I’m not,” she says, her voice tighter than before, this time because she’s trying her best to hold back her emotions. Right now, she just doesn’t feel like she has it in her to yell at the only person she actually considers a friend and risk losing her for good, too. 

“Mostly I was worried you were going to yell at me,” he responds with a sheepish look. 

Lydia looks at him for a moment, puzzled by his conclusion and frowns a little, questioningly. 

“The whole -- kill the messenger scenario.” He presses his lips together. 

Her expression softens a little, but she just shrugs in response. “Not planning on killing anyone.”

“Glad to hear it. Kinda had my fill of people trying to kill me for the month. Patience for it is all gone until next month.” When undoubtedly at least one werewolf and probably one human would threaten to kill him. He tries not to consider the possibility that it’s entirely likely one of these days someone’s going to succeed. Too depressing. Especially considering he just started summer break. 

“Maybe you should try staying out of trouble for a change,” she points out, arching her eyebrows. 

“And let my best friend get _himself_ killed instead? No thanks.” He’d rather die than risk Scott dying. Even if he can’t stop it if it does happen, he can at least _try._

“Keep _him_ out of trouble,” she suggests, cocking her head. Because from what she knows about the two of them, they seem to follow trouble around.

“Guy’s got too much of a hero complex for that,” he says honestly. “It was different when he was just a puny asthmatic human.” 

Lydia actually cracks a smile at that, then shakes her head a little. “I think you guys just get bored.”

“Got bored,” he corrects her. “I’d love to be bored again. I hope this summer is the most boring event-less summer ever.” Because he’s really not sure he’s cut out for this anymore. Maybe he never was. It’s not lost on him when she smiles at him, though. Maybe the week isn’t entirely terrible after all.

***

Lydia grins softly at the memories, closing her eyes as she unconsciously turns on her side, facing him. The bottle of wine is long gone and she’s feeling oddly relaxed even though she’s laying on the floor of a slightly dusty living room. “Yeah, I was a total bitch to you.”

“After everything that happened, I really didn’t blame you,” he tells her, yawning and turning his head to look at her as she curls up beside him.

“I appreciate you not hating me for it,” she says sincerely, opening her eyes to look at him. “But really, Stiles. You were trying to help. I should at least have tried to be nicer.”

He’s pretty certain it’s impossible for him to hate her, but he gives her a small smile when he meets her eyes. “You were scared,” he says simply. 

“Terrified,” she agrees quietly, holding his gaze before smiling a little. “You have no idea how much you helped me that summer.”

“Yeah, well...you helped me too,” he says, voice growing softer. “You just didn’t really know it.” 

“Hopefully this is a case where history can repeat itself,” she whispers at him. And that’s probably about as close as she’ll come to admitting how terrified she is about everything right now, but it doesn’t make it any less true. She doesn’t know if she’ll have another job by the end of the summer. She doesn’t know if teaching is something she wants to continue to do at all. And right now, her life feels about as uncertain as it did about nine years ago. Somehow, she doesn’t feel as alone, though. 

Stiles gazes at her with sleepy eyes, hesitating a moment before shifting onto his side so he’s facing her and then reaching out to cover her hand with his own. “There’s one thing I know for sure, and that’s that you’re going to be okay, Lydia,” he whispers.

Lydia turns her hand in his and links her fingers with his. She smiles softly and squeezes his hand gently before resting her forehead lightly on his upper arm. The only thing she is certain as she drifts off to sleep is that she’s incredibly lucky that she still has Stiles and the pack to rely on.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles wakes up with a start at the sound of a loud thud somewhere above them. Instantly he’s on edge because days that start out with noises don’t generally end well, and he glances at Lydia before carefully pulling away from her and crawling out of the blanket fort they’d built. He doesn’t see anything out of place, doesn’t hear any approaching footsteps and reminds himself he really needs to get an FOID card for situations like this when they arise. 

“Stiles?” she calls from inside the tent. She’s barely awake, but she definitely heard something weird outside. With a frown, she crawls out, too, looking around. 

He brings a finger to his mouth as his gaze travels up the staircase. He strains, listening closely and wishing for a moment he had werewolf senses. All he can hear is the fast beating of his own heart and he licks his lips nervously. It would be there shit luck to have a break in on the literal weekend they move in. 

Her eyes widen when he signals to her. She’s definitely a lot more awake all of the sudden. With a slight nod, she stands up completely and glances upstairs as well, her own heart racing. And then, without thinking about it, she makes her way to the kitchen and grabs the two biggest knives she can find as quietly as possible.

Stiles reaches out and grabs his baseball bat by the front door before approaching the stairs as quietly as possible. 

Lydia frowns a little at him, then follow, stilling when one of the steps creak under her foot. 

He winces but doesn’t look back at her, ascending the stairs quickly now, grip tightening on his bat. The door to Lydia’s room is cracked open just a little and he sets his jaw before edging closer to it and toeing it open. Immediately he spots what caused the thud and he lowers the bat when he sees the window is still closed and locked. “Picture fell,” he tells her, glancing at her over his shoulder. 

She lets out a shaky breath and lowers the knives she has in her hands, sighing softly and shaking her head. “That was not a good wake up call,” she mumbles quietly, looking at the still intact frame on the floor.

“No, no it wasn’t.” He lets out a breath and eyes the knives in her hands momentarily before stepping farther into the room and kneeling down to pick up the picture. It’s unbroken, thankfully. He stands back up and moves to the wall, examining the nail hole carefully. “The nail’s gone.” 

“It probably flew somewhere when it came down,” Lydia says, looking up at the hole. It doesn’t look like it. The hole is pretty much intact. But as she looks around, she can’t see the nail anywhere, either.

“Huh.” He glances around on the floor, too, but doesn’t spot it, either. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” 

“Yeah, I’ll vaccum later just to be sure it’s not hidden anywhere in the carpet, so we don’t accidently step on it,” she says, looking around still and seeing nothing.

“Good idea.” He’s about to say something else when the doorbell rings and he raises his eyebrows. “I definitely wasn’t anticipating houseguests this early.” And then he glances at his watch. “11 AM is definitely too early for visitors.” 

Lydia frowns toward the stairs and shakes her head. “Can you get it?” she asks, looking down at her tank top and pajama bottoms. 

“Yeah.” He gives her a small smile. “See? I’m going to be an _awesome_ roommate,” he jokes as he heads out of the room and toward the stairs.

She smiles at him and shakes her head a little as she follows him. After the scare, she’s not about to let him go down by himself.

Stiles unlocks the door and pulls it open after spotting the delivery guys standing on the porch out the window. “Your bed’s here,” he announces. “Guess this means our camp in days are over.” 

Despite herself, she gives him a sad smile. “Let’s hope I’m not attacked by flying pictures in my room,” she teases.

“If you are, I’ll kick their asses,” he promises, raking a hand through his unruly bed hair.

Lydia laughs softly and nods. “I appreciate it.” 

He grins at her and steps aside as the guys maneuver the bed into their apartment. “Up the stairs, second door on the left, guys,” he tells them. The third delivery guy, who lags behind the first two, eyes Lydia with visible interest. 

She’s in the process of removing the braid from her hair when she feels eyes on her. With a frown, she looks at him, then takes a step back and away from him, wishing she still had those knives in hand so she could feel a little more powerful.

Stiles glances at her and then at the guy before casually stepping in between them and blocking his view of her. “Nice weather we’re having, right?” 

Lydia lets out a breath, then steps forward and places her hands on Stiles’ shoulders, shielding herself from view. “Silly us, wanting to move in the middle of the summer,” she says, keeping her eyes on Stiles. 

He knows what she’s doing the instant she puts her hands on his shoulders and his heart skips a beat but he turns so he’s facing her, resting his hands on her waist. “Yeah but it’s California,” he reminds her. “It’s like this all year round.” He drops a kiss to her forehead. 

Her heart starts beating faster when he turns around. When he kisses her forehead, however, she relaxes a little. There’s something extremely unnerving about a stranger staring at you like a piece of meat inside your own home. So she’s glad Stiles is helping her out. With a soft sigh, she wraps her arms around him and leans her forehead to his chest a moment later. 

Before she can say anything, she hears the two other men coming downstairs and one of them mumbling a “thanks for the help,” to the third. But she doesn’t bother looking at them.

Stiles hugs her, too, resting one hand lightly on the back of her head and letting his eyes close, something in his chest relaxing at the embrace. He rests his chin atop her head and after the guys vanish upstairs, he draws in a breath. “You okay?” he murmurs almost inaudibly.

She nods slightly, then looks up at him as she reluctantly pulls away. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He lifts a hand and gently tucks some hair behind her ear without thinking about it. “No problem,” he assures her. “Want some coffee?” he offers as he makes his way toward the kitchen, heart still beating quickly in his chest.

“Yeah,” she agrees, following him to the kitchen because she’s not exactly comfortable being anywhere else in the house.

***

They’ve been settling in pretty well in the house for the past week. Lydia has managed to buy some of the stuff they need, and at this point, she’s fairly sure the rest are just nice-to-haves. It’s Thursday, which means, she’s home a little earlier than usual, so she figures she’ll get started on dinner since they’ve been mostly eating out or getting take out. 

Roast chicken and vegetables sounds nice enough and definitely healthier than the crap they’ve been eating, so she starts chopping everything up, along with heating up the oven. It’ll be a while before it’s ready, so at least it should be fresh out of the oven when Stiles gets home from work. 

An hour and a half later, Stiles makes his way into the house, sniffing the air curiously. “Is that actual, non-takeout food?” He walks toward the kitchen, shrugging out of his jacket on the way.

Lydia is actually sitting by the kitchen table, the book about banshees she found in his things in her hands. When he walks in, she smiles softly and arches her eyebrows. “Maybe. Depends how good it turns out to be.”

He smiles at her, eyes bright. “Well it smells awesome.” He drops into the chair across from her. 

She bookmarks the book, then sets it down on the table. “How were things at the station?”

Stiles groans and leans his head back against the chair. “Lydia, I’m so bored,” he admits. “I didn’t go to school to be a file clerk and Dad’s got all the good stuff on lockdown. Until I can get a copy of the key -- which he keeps with him at all times by the way -- I’m basically a glorified intern.” 

Lydia wrinkles her nose at that. “You really think he’s not going to let you help eventually? I mean, you did some stuff even back in high school.”

“I think he’s afraid of how much trouble I’ll end up in...much like I did in high school.” Like they all had, really. He shrugs. “I’ll get that damn key one way or another. How was _your_ day?” 

“It was good.” She smiles a little, then shakes her head. “One of the boys in my class wanted me to come see his band play this weekend, so I guess at least I’m popular with the fifteen year olds.” 

He smirks. “Did you tell him you’d go?” 

“I told him I already had a weekend trip to Sacramento planned, but if I made it back in time I’d try to make it,” she says, smirking a little. “I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of the others.”

“Plus then you’d have to attend every band performance of every student the rest of the summer,” he says knowingly, nodding. He rises to his feet and moves to the fridge, grabbing out a bottle of water and taking the cap off before taking a long drink. 

“I made iced tea,” she offers when he reaches the fridge. “Not sure if it’s chilled enough already, though.”

“Oh.” He glances at the top shelf where the pitcher is. “Want some?” 

“Not yet, I’ll wait for dinner. It should be ready soon enough,” she answers, smiling softly.

“What is it?” he asks curiously, glancing toward the stove. 

“Chicken and vegetables,” she says, watching him closely as she gets up. It’s not like she’s ever really cooked for him before.

He smiles, nodding and setting his water bottle down on the table before heading to the cabinets to grab out some plates for them and a glass for her iced tea. He sets them on the table. “Aside from Melissa’s lasagna the other night I haven’t had much in the way of home cooked meals in awhile.” 

“We should get groceries for the week and cook at home at least a few times,” she says, arching her eyebrows. “Considering how much you used to worry about what your dad eats, you haven’t been eating great yourself.”

“I ate a lot of fruit on the go? And semi-healthy sandwiches. Just didn’t have time to do a lot of actual cooking.” He shrugs. “Kinda miss cooking actually. Maybe we could make this a thing. Take turns fixing dinner.” 

“I miss it too, haven’t been doing much of it since I moved back. My mom is currently on a raw diet,” she explains, then nods, face brightening. “I think that’s a great idea.” 

“Maybe a couple nights a week we could fix dinner together,” he adds, watching her with a small smile. 

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” she agrees, smiling at him as she reaches for the dish cloth to open the oven and check on their dinner.

He grins and moves over to her side, grabbing silverware out of the drawer by the stove. 

She sets the dish on the table and smiles over at him. “I think we just need ice and we’ll be good.”

“On it,” he assures her. “Smells great.” He meets her eyes momentarily before moving to the freezer and grabbing some ice from inside. 

“Thanks. I hope the chicken isn’t too dry, I haven’t made this in a while,” she admits as she sits down and starts slicing it for them.

“I’m sure it’ll be amazing,” he assures her, sitting down across from her, stomach growling loudly. He gives her a sheepish grin. 

Lydia grins at that and nods. “Good, glad you’re starving. Food tastes better that way,” she says as she serves him, before serving herself.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely, waiting only long enough for her to put food on her own plate before diving in, groaning and leaning back in his chair. “Of course you’d also be an awesome cook.” He’s pretty sure there’s nothing she isn’t good at. 

She pauses and stares at him for a moment. A little confused. “Is that… a complaint?”

“No?” He frowns at the assumption. 

“Okay, because the words seemed like a compliment, but the whole groaning thing had me confused,” she says, a teasing tone to her voice.

He takes a drink of his water and then sticks his tongue out at her. “Definitely not a complaint. That was me realizing I’m literally starving for this kind of food and it tastes amazing.” 

She grins softly as she turns her attention to her own food, a smile still on her lips as she takes a bite. She considers it for a moment, then nods. “It’s not bad.”

Stiles snorts involuntarily. “You could be a professional cook,” he retorts, taking another bite. 

“I’m generally better at baking,” she admits, taking another bite of her food.

“I mean if you wanted to make cookies or something too I wouldn’t protest, for the record.” He winks at her.

“I’m fairly sure we don’t have the ingredients, but I can this weekend,” she adds, seriously. “I may have perfected the tollhouse recipe.” 

He sits up a little at that. “You mean from scratch?” 

“Obviously.” She smirks, sipping on her tea.

“You’re saying you cracked the secret ingredients?” he asks slowly.

“I’m saying, there’s room for improvement in the original recipe, and I found it,” she tells him, leaning forward a little as she speaks.

Stiles blinks. “Okay I’m going to the store after dinner,” he informs her.

She laughs and shakes her head. “We can make them tomorrow. You make dinner while I bake cookies,” she suggests.

“Deal,” he agrees instantly. “Meet up after work to grocery shop?” 

“Definitely,” she agrees easily, smiling at him for a moment before turning back to her food. “We had a bake off at the Math department once, for a fundraiser,” she tells him. “I tested about fifteen recipes before I got to this one.”

“And I’m betting you took home the grand prize?” Because he can’t imagine anything less from Lydia.

She grins brightly and nods at him. “Actually made a bunch of batches after, they kept selling out. We managed to raise a lot of money.”

His lips turn upwards. “Of course you did,” he says softly, eyes full of warmth.

Lydia holds his gaze for a moment, then she can’t help the way her face feels warm. So although she’s smiling, she looks away again and takes another bite.

Stiles drops his gaze too, impressed and falling into a comfortable silence. 

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything else, but it’s definitely a comfortable silence. Especially because she can tell he’s sincerely enjoying the food. And then, what feels like just a moment later, there’s a loud knock on the door and she jumps out of her thoughts, eyes widening a little.

“I’ll get it,” he tells her, remembering her reaction to the delivery men over the weekend. He scoots his chair back from the table, squeezing her shoulder lightly on his way out of the room. 

“Thanks,” she says quietly, frowning slightly as she watches him walk away. 

He’s tense as he makes his way toward the door, which isn’t really being _knocked_ on so much as pounded with a fist. He picks up his baseball bat, keeping it close just in case as he unlocks and opens the door, eyes narrowing immediately. “Sorry, not interested,” he says flatly.

“Where is _she_?” Jackson all but snarls at him.

“Where is who?” His tone is bored, unimpressed. His grip tightens ever so slightly on his baseball bat.

“My _wife_ , Stilinski,” he says, pushing the door back as he steps forward.

“Soon to be _ex_ -wife,” Stiles corrects him, stepping up with him toe to toe so he can’t cross the threshold. 

“You _want_ me to remind you about the time I destroyed your arm with one hand? Get out of my way, I see her car parked outside,” he says, teeth clenching as he steps forward, too.

Anger flares through him and without thought, he reaches out and places a hand in front of Jackson’s chest and the werewolf stumbles backwards several feet. “If she wants to see you, I’ll let you know.” He shuts the door and locks it, moving toward the closet and grabbing a bag of mountain ash from inside, tossing it down in front of the door.

“Lydia?” he calls, approaching the kitchen warily. 

She’s standing by the kitchen entrance, arms wrapped around herself, face pale, jaw clenched. “I don’t,” she answers him when he comes into her line of sight. 

“Okay,” he says instantly, nodding and pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, hitting his second speed dial button. He doesn’t take his eyes off Lydia.

She stares back at Stiles for a moment, she doesn’t have to ask what he’s doing to know he’s calling Scott. But a moment later, she hears loud banging on the window and gasps, turning to look at it.

“Breathe,” he tells her softly, holding his hand out toward her. “Come with me.” 

Although she takes his hand, she keeps her eyes on the window, expecting it to shatter at any second. And part of her wants him to do it. Part of her wants him to get hurt doing it. Most of her is terrified of what could happen to her or Stiles if he does make it in there.

He leads her up the stairs quickly as he fills Scott in on what’s going on. He pulls open the closet door in the hallway upstairs and pulls Lydia inside with him, closing it. “Thanks, Buddy.” He knows how fast Scott can move, and it won’t take him long to get there. 

Once inside the closet, Lydia takes a deep breath. “This won’t stop him,” she whispers to Stiles in the darkness of the closet.

“It will. The door’s made out of 100% pure mountain ash,” he tells her quietly. He reaches up and tugs on the chain that causes light to flood the closet and reaches onto the top shelf, pulling off a medium box and handing it to her. 

Lydia blinks a couple of times and looks up at him for a moment. She opens the box and her stomach clenches. It’s been a very long time since she’d seen wolfsbane at all. 

“Supernatural panic room,” he says after a few seconds. “Was kinda hoping not to have to use it this soon.” Or at all, but. They do live in Beacon Hills and he figures it was inevitable. 

She closes the box again and shakes her head slightly. “I should-- go talk to him,” she whispers after a moment.

“Please tell me you’re joking right now,” he whispers back, staring at her. 

“He’s not your problem,” she says after a moment, taking a deep breath but she can’t bring herself to look up at Stiles. “Or Scott’s.” 

“Yeah, well right now he’s acting like a maniac, Lydia. This isn’t safe, okay? Just -- give him some time to cool down at least.” 

“I’ll just tell him to go away,” she says, trying to keep her voice firm as she reaches for the door.

“Please, Lydia,” he says softly, reaching out and covering her hand with his own. 

She stills and turns to look at him for a moment. “I can’t-- I won’t just _hide_ from him, Stiles,” she says quietly, her eyes tearing up.

Stiles feels something akin to ice water flood his veins and he lets his hand drop away from hers, reaching out and taking the box of wolfsbane from her and setting it back on the shelf wordlessly. 

Part of her wishes he’d stop her still. Because she’s terrified of facing Jackson. Because the idea of going back downstairs makes her stomach turn. Because if he stopped her, it wouldn’t be on _her_ for being a coward. But he lets her go. And now she has no choice. So with a deep, shaky breath, she pushes the closet door open. Making her way downstairs is pretty much a blur. Before she knows it, she’s by the front door, pulling it open but not stepping outside. 

“What do you _want_?” she demands, even though she can’t see him.

Scott’s standing a few feet from the door, eyes flared red as he glares at Jackson. “He’s just leaving,” he informs her, hint of warning in his voice. “Aren’t you, Jackson?” 

Jackson glares back at Scott, but he’s not wolfed out. Just clearly pissed off. “I want to talk to my wife.” 

“I’m not your _wife_ ,” she reminds him, jaw clenched. “And I don’t _want_ you here.” 

“Legally you’re still --” 

“She said she doesn’t want you here.” Scott’s already reached the limit of his patience. “Don’t make me remind you of my terms from high school.” His voice drops, and it’s full of absolute threat. 

Jackson takes a step back from him, eyes darting to Lydia. “We need to talk.” His voice is less angry this time. 

“Jackson.” Scott steps in front of him. _”Go_ , before I get even more pissed than I already am.” 

“Leave,” she says to him. “I don’t wanna see you,” she says tightly, her heart beating so fast she feels like it’s going to explode.

A short growl escapes him and he turns and storms off. “This isn’t over!” 

“It ended a while ago,” she says, her voice quiet but she’s fairly sure he can hear her.

Scott watches him go, hands curled into fists at his sides. He forces himself to take a deep breath, and then he allows his eyes to fade back to their normal brown before turning to look at her. “Are you okay?” 

Lydia takes a deep breath and nods slightly. Her hands are shaking, to she curls her hands up into fists. “Thank you.”

“Yeah of course,” he says quietly, pausing on the porch and giving her an awkward smile. “Can I come in?” 

“Of course,” she says, frowning a little at the question as she steps aside for him.

“Uh.” He glances down at the threshold. “There’s mountain ash.”

“ _Oh_.” She blinks and looks down, reaching with her foot and breaking the line for him. “I didn’t realize he had time to do that.”

“He’s pretty resourceful.” He smiles a little and steps inside, immediately glancing up the stairs to where Stiles is standing, leaning on the railing. 

Lydia looks up too, keeping her eyes on Stiles for a moment. “He is.”

Stiles glances between them and purses his lips together, giving them a brief nod before disappearing into his bedroom.

Scott reaches out and lays a hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “You sure you’re all right?” Because her hands are still shaking. 

Her face falls when Stiles leaves. But she takes a deep breath and nods, turning to look at Scott again. “Yeah. I hm-- there’s dinner, if you’re hungry.”

He gives her a sympathetic look, but arches his eyebrows at the offer of food. “I make it a practice not to turn down home-cooked food,” he tells her with a small smile, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

She smiles a little at him, leaning against his side a little as she leads him to the kitchen. “Is he okay?” she asks in a whisper once they’re further away from the stairs.

“Yeah. He just needs a few minutes. He’ll be fine,” he assures her quietly. Probably.

Lydia nods slightly, offering him a small smile before focusing on heating up the food for him. She didn’t exactly finish eating, but the last thing she is right now, is hungry.

***

Stiles sits at his desk, leaning back in the chair and looking at Scott, who was sitting on the bed looking at him. “What?” he asks with a sigh. They’d spent the last fifteen minutes talking about ways to subvert Jackson if he shows back up, and he knows this isn’t what Scott wants to talk about so he motions at him. “Out with it. Get it out of your system.” 

Scott sighs softly and shifts on the bed. “Just-- thinking about that talk we had the other night,” he tries.

He presses his lips together, folding his arms across his chest and waits. 

“After tonight… are you still sure this is a great idea?” Scott asks quietly.

“Even more so than I was before,” he answers, sitting forward and arching his eyebrows. 

“You-- still have feelings for her, Stiles.” It’s not a question.

Stiles squints at him momentarily. “Your point?” 

“Jackson showed up here, and look what it’s already done to you.” And Lydia didn’t even choose to leave with him this time.

“Reminded me that I’m back in Beacon Hills?” 

“It _hurt_ you,” Scott points out, sighing softly. “What happens if she-- decides to get back together with him, Stiles?”

_That_ makes him look away. “I don’t really have control over that one way or the other.” Short of killing the bastard. Which is very tempting. 

“You have control over distancing yourself some more now.” 

“By going back to DC?” he counters. 

“By letting Kira and I help Lydia get back on her feet,” Scott says. “I just don’t think you doing it is going to be good for _you_.”

He knows, of course, that this is what Scott’s been worried about all along. He sighs softly and moves to sit next to him. “And what if not doing it is going to be worse for me?” 

“It’s not like you won’t be around her anymore, Stiles. But-- sharing a house, cooking together, I just-- isn’t it too much for you?” he asks quietly. 

“Actually until Jackson showed up it’s been pretty great,” he says honestly. He should have figured something would sink it, though. And of _course_ it would be Jackson Whittemore.

“That’s what I’m saying, Stiles. I have the feeling he’s not going to just leave and--” Scott hesitates. “I just think that getting involved like this is a bad choice for you.”

He falls silent for a moment, considering his best friend’s words. “Maybe you’re right,” he agrees. “Maybe this is a terrible idea.” He pauses and looks at Scott. “But it’s probably not my worst.” He nudges him with his elbow.

Scott stills completely as he turns to look toward the door, eyes widening as he listens to the retreating footsteps. Followed by a door closing.

“Oh fuck.” He groans and drops his head forward, chin touching his chest. 

He keeps listening for a moment longer, then sighs softly and nods. “Yeah, pretty sure she heard something.”

“You think?” Stiles asks wryly. He rises to his feet, raking a hand through his hair. “There’s a sleeping bag in the closet if you’re really planning to crash here tonight. Or there’s the couch.” He pats his arm and heads for the door.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks, getting to his feet. He knows it’s obvious, but the question is meant more as a sanity check.

“Going to talk to Lydia.” 

“Maybe I should talk to her,” he offers, stepping forward.

“I got it. But thanks.” He draws in a breath and heads out of the bedroom and down the hall to Lydia’s room, knocking on the door.

When there’s a knock, Lydia looks up toward the door from her position on her bed but doesn’t say anything. The last thing she wants right now is to see or talk to either of them.

“I’m coming in,” he warns before turning the handle and pushing open the door. He steps inside and closes it behind him. 

“Don’t,” she calls out, her jaw clenching when he does anyway. “Leave.” 

“Nope. If you can go confront a pissed off Jackson without any backup then you can listen to me after you heard a tiny piece of a private conversation without any context,” he informs her, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the door.

“At least Jackson says things to my face,” she says tightly, her voice cracking slightly, her face red with anger and a mix of other emotions she can’t even focus on right now. “I don’t need context to understand ‘terrible idea’. Now _leave_.” 

“You do actually, because the terrible idea is trying to be the thing that stands between you and _Jackson_ ,” he retorts. “But since that’s obviously not a thing, there’s not really an issue, right?” 

“Getting involved is definitely a bad choice for you,” she says through clenched teeth, quoting Scott this time.

He actually rolls his eyes. “Yeah well going up against a pissed off out of control _werewolf_ doesn’t tend to be a healthy life choice. I’ll tell you the same thing I would have told him -- it won’t be the first time and it won’t be the last.” 

Lydia lets out a deep breath and looks away from him. “I’m moving out tomorrow. It’ll definitely be the last.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” he informs her, pushing himself away from the door and moving to sit down on her bed. 

When he sits down, the gets up, arms crossed over her chest as she instinctively and immediately puts space between them. “I already told you to leave. I have nothing to say to you and I don’t want to _talk_ to you.”

“This is feeling a lot like the last conversation we had before I left for DC.” 

“You should have stayed out of my life then, too,” she says sharply. 

His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. “Excuse the _fuck_ out of me for giving a shit what happens to you, Lydia,” he says harshly. “You should just shoot me and get it over with.” He rises to his feet. 

“Don’t make anymore terrible choices on _my_ account,” she tells him, her heart beating fast against her chest. But right now, all she can do is shield herself from the inevitable. 

“Oh my _god._ ” He throws his hands in the air. “You know what --” He tugs at his hair for a second then heads for the door, yanking it open and slamming it so hard the walls rattle. “I’m going for a walk.” 

When he lifts his hand to his hair, she actually winces and takes a step back. As soon as he’s out of the room, though she doesn’t waste time before rushing to the door and locking it this time. 

***

She doesn’t come out of her room until morning. When she does, she has one of her suitcases packed with some of her favorite clothes with her. It’s not like she could sleep anyway, so she packed all of her clothes back up. She’s wearing a lot more makeup than usual, but just as she’s about to drag the suitcase back downstairs, she nearly trips on Scott’s sleeping form in the hallway. 

Her jaw clenches and she drops her suitcase back in her room then proceeds to jump over Scott as silently as possible so she can get out of there before he wakes up.

“I’m awake,” he informs her, rolling his head and opening his eyes to look at her. 

Although she jumps when he speaks up, it doesn’t make her stop. Instead of looking down, she steps over him and starts for the stairs.

“Come on, Lydia.” His voice is quiet, but he rises to his feet and follows her toward the stairs. “Would you stop for just a minute?” 

“Stay away from me,” she says without stopping. She didn’t cry last night, but she wants to. Because Scott has never really left her life the way Stiles did. He’s the one she saw the most often while she was in LA, after Kira. But after hearing those words from _him_ last night put everything in perspective for her. She can’t rely on him. Or Stiles. And that extends to Kira. She can’t trust her own mother. She just-- needs to be on her own. 

Before she can blink, he’s in front of her, blocking her path, eyes pleading. “You know that’s not going to happen.” 

Lydia gasps when he appears in front of her, her eyes widen and she steps back. Despite his expression being anything but threatening, she can’t shake off the fear she feels. And although anger is still there, her voice trembles when she speaks up again. “Get out of my way.”

His eyes widen a little not at her anger -- he’s witnessed that more times than he can count -- but her fear. “Lydia?” 

Her heart is beating fast, but she steps forward this time, trying to push her way past him. She knows it’s useless to try and physically push him out of the way so her best bet is to just squeeze her way through.

“Lydia, please stop,” he whispers, reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Just for a second. Tell me what just happened.” 

She stills and holds her head up, taking a deep breath and turning to look at him as she tries her best to pull herself back together. “I told you to get out of my way and you _didn’t_. Let me through and I’ll get out of your best friend’s life for good like you wanted.”

“That’s not what I want. That’s never what I wanted,” he says sadly. “But that’s not what I meant. You were scared just then. I could smell it.” 

“When a werewolf just shows up in front of me like that, yes, I get scared,” she says sharply. 

“You’ve never been afraid of me before.” He holds her gaze. “Which...leads me to think this isn’t really about me at all.” 

Her heart skips a beat and she holds her breath instinctively. Because she knows he has to have heard it. “I’m late for school, get out of my way.”

“That’s it.” He swallows hard, guilt clouding his face. “He hurt you. Didn’t he?” 

Lydia stares at him for a moment, for a second there’s a hint of fear on her expression, then she shakes her head. “As of last night, my life is none of your business,” she says, her voice even as she finally pushes her way past him and toward the stairs.

“Allison would kill him.” His voice is quiet. 

That makes her stop again, her stomach drops and it becomes a lot harder to hold back the tears. Because even after all this time, she still misses her. And today especially, maybe she’d be the one person she could still trust. “Allison isn’t here,” she says, voice wavering. But she doesn’t look back before continuing toward the door.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s almost eight at night by the time she actually makes it to the cemetery. She managed to teach the classes she had to. Then she drove around town and to neighboring towns to see if she could find a place to stay. For now, the only real option she has is the crappy motel Stiles had been staying at. 

Somehow, she’d ended up at her grandmother’s old lake house. And although she knew her mother had sold it a while back, it was still shocking to see it torn apart. Half demolished and from the looks of it, abandoned for years.

She’s physically and mentally exhausted as she makes her way toward Allison’s grave. It’s mostly dark already but this is the one place she always made sure she stopped by every time she came to Beacon Hills so she heads there automatically, barely paying attention to her surroundings. She still doesn’t know where she’ll go when she leaves or what she’s going to do, but for the moment, she manages to shut those thoughts down and focus on memories of her best friend.

Stiles is sitting in front of Allison’s tombstone, gently brushing off some overgrown weeds and tossing them aside. Next to his right knee is a bouquet of flowers -- lillies. He exhales as he stares at her name on the grave in the darkness. “Sorry I haven’t been here for awhile,” he murmurs. “Got kind of plowed over by school and the FBI stuff. Somehow I don’t think you’re upset with me about it.” He picks up the bouquet and carefully slides it into the vase attached to the tomb. 

“The rest of it...you’d probably kick my ass over.” He rests his elbows on his knees. His fingers pluck absently at a strand of grass. “I’ve been trying to fix it, but...I don’t know how. I thought I did, but...you know how much I screw up so probably not a surprise, right?” 

Lydia is only about twenty feet from the grave when she hears a voice. In the darkness, she can’t tell who it is, really. But when she hears his words, she recognizes it. She even makes out the last phrase or so, so she stills.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Allison.” His voice drops a little more. “But I know this wasn’t some coincidence. I know you never believed in fate, but after everything, I can’t help it, I guess.” He presses his lips together for a moment. “I know I’m supposed to be here in Beacon Hills. I _know_ that. But…” His voice trails off and he shifts positions, stretching his legs out in front of him. “So Jackson’s in town.” His jaw clenches. “Scott actually had to alpha at him to get rid of him last night. I guess some things never change, right?” 

He heaves a sigh. “I don’t know if you can actually hear me or if you’re off shooting arrows in the sky or what, but if you _can_ hear me and there’s anything you can do to make Lydia realize she deserves so much more than that jackass, I’d appreciate it. I mean if you want to accidentally let one of those arrows fly in his general direction I would not be sad. Just throwin’ that out there.” 

She’s about to turn away and let him have his time with her when he mentions Jackson. Her stomach actually clenches at that. But then he goes on. 

_Allison is dead because of him. How can you stand to even look at him, Lydia?_ She remembers Jackson’s words to her. Her best friend’s body hadn’t been even buried yet, and that was one of the first things Jackson said to her. She remembers it left a bad taste in her mouth but she hadn’t slept in days. She was exhausted from crying. And she felt so numb, she couldn’t bring herself to argue. 

Stiles looked as bad as she felt when she saw him walking down the hall at school. So she let him be. And went to visit him later that afternoon. 

She hadn’t seen him since that night at the school. Since they defeated the Nogitsune and made sure he was safe again. They hadn’t talked. She hadn’t talk to anyone other than Jackson, really. Everyone looked so-- lost and broken. They were lost and broken. And trying to pretend otherwise just took too much energy. 

***

As she knocks on the Stilinski’s door, she doesn’t bother putting on a face or pretending. Her reason to be there is real and sincere, so she doesn’t figure she needs to. 

A moment later, Sheriff Stilinski pulls open the door, looking tired but a little less broken than he’s looked lately. “Hello, Lydia. Come on in.” He offers her a small smile.

She tries for a smile and steps into the house. “Is Stiles home?” 

“Yeah, he’s up in his room.” He hesitates. “Maybe you can help me with something.” He motions her to follow him as he heads for the kitchen. 

Lydia arches her eyebrows slightly, surprised but nods and follows him silently.

He moves over to where he’s been preparing a sandwich. “He’s not eating much,” he tells her, glancing at her over his shoulder as he puts the food on a plate. And he’s lost too much weight from the weeks he was possessed. He looks like he’s still on death’s doorstep. He hesitantly holds out the plate to her, hopeful expression on his face.

“I’ll try,” she promises, smiling a little as she takes the plate from him.

“Thank you.” He smiles back and watches as she heads toward the stairs.

With a deep breath, Lydia pauses outside Stiles’ bedroom. The door isn’t closed all the way, but still, she doesn’t look inside and reaches to knock instead. 

“I’m still not hungry, Dad,” he says after a moment, laying on his back in the bed, eyes closed. 

“Hm,” Lydia says quietly, pushing the door a little. “It’s me, Stiles.”

He swallows heavily, rubs a hand over his face and struggles to sit up. When he finally manages it, he draws in a deep breath. “Come in.” His fingers tap on his leg. 

She takes a deep breath and pushes the door the rest of the way, holding the plate ahead of her and trying for a smile. “He did send this, though.”

His stomach turns just at the sight of the sandwich -- turkey, no doubt, because his dad knows it’s his favorite -- except right now when it makes him want to throw up. Then again, everything kind of makes him want to throw up. “Pass,” he says with a grimace. 

Her face falls a little but she does set it down on his desk, as far away from him as possible. “Still feeling sick?”

“Yeah,” he admits, chewing his lower lip. He’d been responsible for the deaths of slew of people, including Lydia’s best friend. He’s not sure he’s ever going to not feel sick again.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, watching him but not stepping closer. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Don’t,” he says just as quietly. “You literally have nothing to apologize to me about. Ever.” 

“Stiles…” Lydia takes a deep breath. “I’m just sorry you feel bad.”

He tries to smile, but doesn’t quite make it. “Pretty sure that’s not going to change in the near future.” Or ever. Probably ever. “But thanks.” 

She hesitates, then she takes a step closer, Jackson’s words echoing in her head. “I don’t blame you, Stiles. For anything that’s happened. I could never blame you.”

His eyes start to tear up and he has to shut them tightly because he really doesn’t want to cry in front of Lydia. Or anyone else, for that matter. “Allison is dead because of me.” His voice is shaky. 

Her own eyes tear up. But this time she does move to sit down next to him. “She’s dead because she--” her voice cracks and she looks away. “Because she went to save _me_.”

He chest tightens painfully at that and he reaches out and lays a trembling hand on her shoulder. “I knew he wanted you. I didn’t know why. But I couldn’t --” He sniffs. “I couldn’t stop him or warn anyone.” 

“I tried to warn her,” she whispers quietly, turning to look at him. “I-- I felt like he wouldn’t hurt me.”

He draws in a shuddering breath, feeling like any second he’s going to shatter to pieces the way he’d watched the nogitsune do just two days before. “I am _so_ sorry.” His voice cracks. 

She reaches over and wraps her fingers around his, the look on his face breaking her heart. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Sure feels like it is.” His lower lip quakes and he drops his gaze even as he threads his fingers through hers. 

“It shouldn’t,” she whispers, sniffling. “You couldn’t control it. When we-- when it had me, I don’t know, Stiles. But I could feel it wasn’t _you_.”

A tear rolls down his cheek and he tightens his hand around hers just a little. “I stabbed Scott,” he whispers. “All those people at the station and the hospital and...Coach. I feel like --” He shakes his head. 

“ _No_ ,” her voice is still quiet, but firmer. “That thing did, not _you_.”

“I remember all of it.” He wishes in a way that he didn’t, and he knows that wouldn’t be fair either, considering how many people had died or been hurt. But he’s always been a selfish guy.

“Still doesn’t make you responsible,” she says quietly, squeezing his hand. “You would never do any of those things and we all know that, Stiles.”

His shoulders sag a little. Here she is comforting him when her best friend had just died. And God knows if _Scott_ had been the one who’d died -- 

He has to cut his thinking off abruptly because even the thought is too much, especially _now_ when it so easily could have been the case. He hesitates a second, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arms around her instead. 

The hug is definitely unexpected but not unwelcomed. Just two nights ago, she lost Allison, Aiden and for a long moment there, she thought she was going to lose Stiles, too. The memory of him lying unconscious on the school floor is enough for her face to crumble and tears run down her face as she wraps her arms around him.

Stiles buries his face against her hair and just holds onto her tightly, like a lifeline. Because in that moment, she is.

***

He’s not sure what it is when he hears it, but identifies it a second later as the sound a leaf makes when it’s dry and stepped on. He turns, startled, to see Lydia standing a few feet away, crying. He inhales sharply and quickly rises to his feet. “I didn’t --” _Realize you were standing there,_ his mind finishes for his mouth. His heart beats faster than usual. He hadn’t anticipated anyone else, least of all Lydia, showing up at Allison’s grave at that particular moment. 

Lydia is lost in her memory of him until he speaks up. When she realizes he’s noticed her, she takes a deep breath and wipes her tears away. She shakes her head. “I was just--” _leaving_. To let him have his time. But instead, she steps forward. “You don’t still blame yourself, do you?”

He’s not expecting the question, but his gaze drops almost immediately. There’s a hell of a lot that he blames himself for. “Mostly I try not to think about it too much.” His voice is quiet. 

She wraps her arms around herself. “She wouldn’t want you to.” Because Lydia knows Allison. And if she did what she did, she knew the dangers and would want no one to try and take responsibility for her choices.

“I know.” He exhales, closing his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, slowly moving over to her. “I was - pretty much done here,” he says softly. 

“You can have your time,” she says, shifting the flowers in her hands and looking down at them before glancing at him. A lot of the anger she was feeling toward him the previous night dissipated now. It doesn’t mean she’s ready to go back to the house. But it does mean there are things much bigger than what she overheard.

“I’ve been here awhile,” he assures her, gaze darting from the flowers in her hands to her face. “Can I just --” He hesitates a second, then moves closer and winds his arms around her for a moment. 

She stills completely when he reaches out to her. Not out of fear this time, but mostly because she’s not sure how to react. Just a moment later though, her eyes get warm with unshed tears and despite herself, she feels herself wrapping her arms around him.

He rests a hand on the back of her head, relaxing a little when she hugs him back, because for a moment he hadn’t been sure she would. He lets out a breath, keeping her close to him for as long as she’ll allow it. (It’s never long enough.) 

She doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away or let go for a long moment. Because all she can think about is that sickly, fragile looking Stiles that he was after possessed. Remember Allison and all she sacrificed to save, most of all, both of their lives. 

But then, all of the sudden she feels a harsh chill down her spine. She tenses and opens her eyes. _Remember_ , a voice whispers and Lydia gasps, this time pulling away and looking around with wide eyes.

“Lydia?” His eyes widen a little and he pulls away to look at her, worry clear on his face. “What is it?” 

She looks back at him, her heart beating fast. “Did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” he tells her, glancing around warily. 

_Remember_. Lydia stills again, turning to look back toward Allison’s grave. She suddenly can’t breath. Her heart is hammering against her chest. Slowly, she starts walking closer to the grave. “Allison?”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he turns, half expecting to see the archer standing there, but he sees nothing. Still, his heart beats faster in his chest and he finds himself holding his breath. 

_Remember what it feels like_. Allison’s voice is loud and clear this time. Lydia kneels down in front of her grave, eyes on the headstone, tears running down her face. She knows it’s her. She can _feel_ her presence. “Allison, can you hear me?”

He remains absolutely still and silent as he watches her, wondering what she’s hearing exactly. 

“Allison, please,” she tries again, her heart tight. Because she can feel her best friend and she knows she’s heard her. But for a moment, it’s like she’s fading away. Then all of the sudden it’s like a surge of _force_ is all around her. An energy. And it’s followed by a strong wind that hits her, then continues in Stiles’ direction. 

It catches him off guard, but it’s unmistakable, and a shudder runs through him, making him gasp, and for the briefest second, his eyes glow bright white before the light vanishes once more. 

Lydia turns to look at him, still on her knees, but she catches that just in time, her eyes widening when she sees the way his are glowing. She gets to her feet and turns to face him, her heart racing. “She’s gone.”

He knows that before she says it and he draws in a shaky breath, pressing a hand to his chest for a second and looking at her with wide eyes, unaware of what had just happened with his eyes a second before. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“Your eyes,” she whispers back, her own just as wide as his. Her hands shaking as she pushes her hair away from her face.

He frowns at that, shaking his head. “My eyes?” His voice is wary. 

“They sparked,” she says quietly, swallowing hard.

“Sparked.” He swallows hard too, reaching up and rubbing his hands over them. “They turned white.” It isn’t a question this time. 

Lydia nods slightly, a shiver running down her spine, but not as strong as before. Almost feels like-- an aftershock. 

He forces himself to take a deep breath and slowly drops his hand to look at her again, hesitating before moving closer and holding his hand out to her wordlessly.

She holds her breath, looking at him for a moment before sliding her hand into his. But somehow something feels-- _different_. His hand feels warmer. No, not warmer, but almost like touching his hand is more real than anything else around them. She purses her lips together, looking at their hands for a moment before looking up at him again.

Stiles holds her gaze as her curls his fingers around hers. “I think we need to talk,” he whispers. 

Her eyes tear up slightly as she stares at him. “You felt her, right?” she asks quietly. Before he says anything else, before they move even an inch, she needs to make sure this really happened. Even if it won’t help her understand why, she needs to know it was real.

“I did,” he says just as quietly, reaching up and brushing a tear off her face gently with his thumb. 

Lydia closes her eyes and leans into his touch, letting out a deep, shaky breath before nodding slightly.

This time he doesn’t hesitate before wrapping his other arm around her and hugging her once more, feeling a surge of new energy -- different than what they’d both felt a few moments before. He draws in a slow deep breath and lets his eyes close, letting the new energy ground and steady him and wondering if she feels it too.

She does. And it’s so strong, she actually gasps quietly when he hugs her. But instead of pulling away, she tightens her arms around him. 

That gasp is what affirms things for him and he leans his head against hers for a second. “You drove here right?” Because he hadn’t. 

“Yeah,” she whispers quietly, closing her eyes and leaning her face against his shoulder. 

“Any chance I can hitch a ride?” he murmurs. 

Lydia pulls a hand away and reaches into her purse, pulling out her keys and after a moment, pulling away from him and pressing them into his hand. “I can’t drive.”

He nods slightly, looking down at the keys and then up to her face once more before winding his arm around her shoulders and quietly guiding her out of the cemetery and toward her car. 

She doesn’t complain, just leans against his side and takes a deep breath. Her brain is still on overload, but part of her is still trying to rationalize everything that just happened. She knows it has to be banshee-related. Stiles couldn’t hear Allison, she could. But it doesn’t explain why now, after all this time. And it doesn’t explain what happened to _him_.

***

It’s a twenty minute drive back to their duplex and he parks the car in the driveway silently, chewing his lower lip for a moment. His hands still clutch loosely onto the steering wheel and he draws in a slow breath and lets it out before turning his head to look at her, opening his mouth to say something, then closing it again. He pulls the keys from the ignition and holds them out to her before reaching for the door handle. 

She’s been silent, lost in thought most of the drive. When he holds the keys out for her, she blinks a couple of times and takes them from him. Right now, she’s glad to be back here. Both because she has nowhere else to go, and also because she feels exhausted. She glances at him, then takes a deep breath and reaches to open her door.

He meets her at the front of the car, then walks alongside her til they reach the front door. He unlocks it and steps inside, holding it open for her, as well. 

She’s half expecting Scott to be in there as she makes her way back into the house but considering it’s mostly dark and quiet, she’s fairly sure he’s not. And then she realizes the jeep was parked outside so she glances at Stiles. “Did you walk there?”

“Yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I needed to clear my head, you know?” 

Lydia nods slightly, pursing her lips together. That’s why she drove for hours after school ended, after all. She makes her way further into the house and sits down on the couch. Her legs still feel a little shaky from that whole experience. 

He slowly moves to sit beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was being recruited by the FBI,” he says quietly. “I interned there for almost two years during junior and senior year at George Washington.” 

She blinks a couple of times in surprise. At first because of the information he’s randomly throwing at her, and then by what he’s actually saying. “You did?”

He nods slightly, pressing his lips together. 

“Did-- they not hire you on?” Because that would surprise her a lot more than him being recruited. Stiles has always been an amazing investigator. And extremely smart.

“I turned them down,” he admits after a moment. 

“...What?” She sits up a little and turns to look at him. “Why?”

“Because there’s no guarantee they’d let me work out of an office in California,” he tells her quietly. 

“And you wanted to come home?” she asks just as quietly.

Stiles looks at his hands for a moment and then glances at her. “Because as much as I liked what I was doing in DC, it wasn’t what I knew I was supposed to be doing. The cases were interesting but...not the kind of cases that I really wanted to specialize in.” 

“You mean the supernatural,” she says, it’s not really a question considering the conversations they’ve had since they ran into each other again.

He nods ever so slightly, holding her gaze. “Deaton said something to me before I left. He said he was planning to leave Beacon Hills and turn his clinic over to Scott when he graduated. That Scott was going to need help when it came to the other stuff.” 

“Scott said he’d be working with Deaton,” Lydia tells him. She remembers having that conversation, so Deaton saying he’s leaving doesn’t seem to make sense.

“He probably doesn’t know yet,” he admits. “Deaton probably sensed I wasn’t ready to take over in an official kind of capacity.” 

Lydia shakes her head slightly at the way he just worded that. “What do you mean by take over?”

“The other stuff that I was doing in DC. The supernatural stuff. I was learning. Training,” he admits. “To be Scott’s emissary.” There’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Her eyes widen a little at that information. “Is that-- that spark?”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck warily. “Yeah, that’s -- why my eyes did that thing. At least...part of it.” 

“What was it?” she asks quietly, studying him closely.

“That would be - you. Us. Our uh, combination of powers basically?” And Allison’s spirit, which undoubtedly is what reignited Lydia’s powers.

“Me?” she echoes, shaking her head. “My-- powers, I hadn’t even felt anything since-- I left.”

“Until tonight,” he whispers. 

She lets out a breath and finally looks away, then nods slightly. “I still don’t understand what happened.”

“I think --” He pauses, chewing his lower lip and then rising to his feet and starting to pace the room. “No. It was Allison. I felt her. You heard _and_ felt her.” 

“How can it be her, Stiles?” She whispers, her eyes tearing up again as she remembers what it felt like-- and then she remembers what she said and shakes her head a little. “She was telling me to remember something.”

He cocks his head at that. “I don’t know. I think -- that sometimes spirits can visit,” he says quietly. “I think they check in from time to time. I know it sounds crazy but -- there’s been more than once when I felt my mom.” His voice is hushed. 

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” she whispers to him, watching him closely. “What happened?”

“Just times when things have been really bad. Sometimes I’ll be lying down or just --” He motions his hand. “Doing whatever and I’ll feel her in the room. I just always kind of assumed I was crazy before all the werewolf stuff happened.” 

“Oh, this happened before that?” she asks, surprised. “Did you talk to her?”

“Sometimes. Mostly when I was younger. Felt stupid as I got older,” he confesses, rubbing the back of his head and moving to sit down again. “At least kind of until the supernatural became reality to me. Then everything was kind of open for questioning.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt someone I knew before,” she admits quietly, glancing at him when he sits down next to her again, then looks down and sighs softly. “But I knew it was her, at the cemetery.”

He reaches out wordlessly and lays a hand on her back, his touch light and gentle. 

She looks over at him again, watching him for a moment. “Why are you telling me all of this now?”

Stiles swallows heavily and shifts his gaze away, pretty sure the next revelation is going to make her hate him. “Because it’s sort of a two a way street,” he whispers.

“What is?” she asks, shifting on her seat so she’s facing him. Because she’s not sure she liked the look on his face right now. It’s making her worry that there’s already some big supernatural emergency she doesn’t know about.

“You helped me ignite my emissary abilities,” he says after a moment, reluctantly turning his head to look at her again. “And in turn that sort of...reignited your banshee abilities.” 

All she can do is stare at him for a moment. As far as she knows, what ignited her abilities in the first place was a near death experience, not him. She shakes her head slightly. “I felt Allison because of _you_?”

“We felt Allison because of each other.” He chews his thumbnail. 

“Why?” She presses, sitting up on the edge of the couch. “We’ve been around each other a lot since we moved back, why hasn’t it happened before? Or-- during senior year? Or at any other point in our lives?”

Stiles draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, considering that. “Timing? Alignment of the moon and stars?” He doesn’t have the exact reasons figured out for why now, yet. “We spent most of senior year pretty busy and not really -- bonding a lot.” To say the least. He’d been dating Malia, she’d been dating Jackson. She’d also spent a great deal of the year in a catatonic state in Eichen. “And it kind of happened for me last night, too.” 

“And I didn’t even want to _see_ you today. We weren’t bonding at the cemetery either,” she points out but there’s no anger in her voice. “What do you mean it happened last night?”

“No, but we have been for the last week,” he points out quietly. “We’ve been pretty much orbiting each other’s space since we both got back to Beacon Hills.” He gets up and starts to pace again, not wanting to look at her, afraid of what her reaction might be. “Jackson. I pushed him out of the doorway. Not physically.” 

She keeps her eyes on him, still sitting on the edge of her seat. “What do you mean then?” 

“I mean I channeled some freaky emissary mind mojo and shoved him out the door with it?”

“So literally with your mind,” she says quietly, arching her eyebrows.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t look at her, just keeps pacing. 

“And you think it’s because I was here?” she asks, cocking her head.

“Well, I’ve never thrown anyone with my mind before, so that’s my working hypothesis, yeah.” 

Lydia shakes her head slightly, expression growing neutral. “Maybe you just hate him that much.”

“I hate a lot of people, Lydia. And I’ve been in a lot of situations where that trick would have come in a lot handier than last night and nothing happened.” 

She lets out a breath. “Assuming it’s because of me, does that mean my powers are-- back?”

“I think if they’re not, they’re going to be,” he admits quietly. He finally stops pacing and turns to look at her, eyes troubled. “I’m sorry.” 

She stares up at him, silent for a moment. “But _why_? Why did I affect you when I didn’t even have my powers again to begin with?”

He pauses at that, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it was just because --” He holds his breath for a second. “I wanted to keep you from getting hurt.” One way or the other.

Lydia stares at him for a moment, her chest tightening a little. “He’d hurt you before hurting me,” she says quietly. It doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her, too. But he wouldn’t think twice before hurting Stiles, she’s pretty sure.

He’s well aware of how right she is about that, but he still doesn’t care, even after everything from high school. “Probably.” He shrugs and goes back pacing once more. 

She watches him as he paces once more, then sighs and shifts on the couch, leaning back against it. “Is there anything else I don’t know?”  
There’s a lot she doesn’t know. Things he never really wants her to know if he can protect her. “Like what?” he asks warily.

“I don’t know, Stiles. Anything,” she says, looking away. Because she still can’t shake off the conversation she overheard last night.

He wonders if he’s really protecting her if she doesn’t know the truth of who Jackson is. At least not the complete picture of it. Then again, she already knows what Jackson’s _likely_ capable of. She said so herself. He chews his lower lip indecisively as he paces in front of her, obviously troubled. “I’m sure there is. I mean, I’m sure there are things that you don’t know about because we’ve been apart for over five years and probably stuff from high school even, that you don’t know because we’d kinda grown apart for awhile and maybe it just didn’t seem like it mattered because of everything else that was going on. Right? I mean I’m sure there are things I don’t know too.” 

And it may have been a very long time since they were close. But she’s fairly sure this hasn’t changed. It’s just a part of Stiles. With a deep breath, she sits up again and leans her elbows on her knees, then looks up at him silently for a moment. “You’re babbling, I’m fairly sure that still means you’re hiding something specific.” 

He rubs a hand over his face, never stopping his movement. “But what if it’s something that’s in the past and you either hate me for it because it may have changed things for you, or you hate me now because you think I’m just using it as an excuse to hate someone that I definitely hate and that I’m trying to like, manipulate you into hating him too?” Why can’t there ever be any easy answers?

“I doubt you could make me hate Jackson more than I already do,” she says simply, expression neutral as she stares up at him.

“Okay. Then it doesn’t really matter anyway,” he says easily. “We’ll just both hate him for existing.” 

“ _Stiles_ ,” she says, frowning this time. 

It’s the tone that makes him wince, because he’s not looking at her to see the look she’s giving him. “Fine. Jackson’s the reason I didn’t play lacrosse senior year.” 

“Did he bully you out of the team?” she asks, uncertain. Because it doesn’t sound like Stiles to just let something like that happen.

“Scott never would have let that happen,” he says honestly. 

Lydia nods slightly, sitting up again. “Then what happened?”

He presses his lips together, wishing he’d talked to Scott about this. Then again, they’d talked about it so much senior year, he already knows where Scott stands on the subject. Scott is a fan of honesty. “When you were in Eichen House, your mom really didn’t want me to come and see you, and neither did Jackson. I made the mistake of showing up at the same time he was there.” Actually Stiles is pretty sure the guy had followed him, but that’s neither here nor there in the long run. “Let’s just say he wasn’t very happy to see me.” 

She frowns once again, cocking her head as she watches him. She remembers a few things from the time she was out, but she has no idea how much of it actually happened, so she rather not say anything. “What did he do?”

For a second he swears he sees something move atop the fireplace and he pauses in his tracks, but sees nothing out of place. He blinks a couple of times and reluctantly looks at Lydia. “He broke my arm,” he says after a long moment. 

Lydia glances away when he looks at the fireplace, but at the information, her eyes widen. “What? To stop you from going into Eichen?”

“He was furious that I was trying to see you at all, yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s why it took so long to get you out.” His voice drops. “I was the only one who could make it past the mountain ash barriers. I guess he was so pissed he couldn’t come see you, he didn’t think I should either.” 

Her jaw clenches at that, but she manages to keep her expression neutral. “How bad was it?” 

If she was anyone else, he’d make a sarcastic remark about how it had taken three months to recover and months of physical therapy after that and he’d missed his entire senior year of playing the game he’d loved since he was old enough to know what lacrosse was. He looks at her instead, hating that he can’t read her expression. He shrugs a little and reluctantly moves to sit down in one of their recliners, but he doesn’t lean back. “Could have been worse.” Jackson could have torn his arm _off_ without much effort. 

“If it could have been worse,” she says, voice even as she keeps her eyes on him. “Why did it stop you from playing? I didn’t see a cast when you guys got me out.”

“Physical therapy,” he tells her. “The doctor said lacrosse was a no go.” 

If it was a clean break, it wouldn’t have taken him that long to heal. She can only imagine that Jackson crushed his arm, broke it in a lot of places, at least. Her jaw clenches because she does wish she had known that then. If it would have changed anything, if she would have believed him, and not whatever excuse Jackson would have offered her, she doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. 

Lydia sighs deeply and stands up again, rubbing her hands over her face, then pulling her hair back. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” she says, voice still even, emotionless as she walks over to the window to look outside.

He still can’t get a read on where her head is. He watches her walk away and look out the window and his shoulders drop. He rubs his hands over his face. “Yeah well it’s not your fault.” He’s not sure she even hears him, though. He rises to his feet, part of him wanting to go over to her, to make her look at him and ask her what she’s thinking. The other part just feels dejected that she’s so emotionless about it. 

Stiles presses his lips together and draws in a breath, slowly turning and heading toward the kitchen to get something to drink. 

She hears him walk away, she glances over her shoulder just in time to see him disappearing into the kitchen. With a sigh, she lets her shoulders drop and rubs her hands over her face. She wishes Jackson would show up here again. She was wrong when she said she couldn’t hate him more than she already did. Hurting her is one thing, hurting Stiles when he was the _one_ person who could help her -- knowing Jackson _because_ he was the one person who could help her, makes her want to try to banshee scream once again after all this ears. Just for his benefit. To cause him an ounce of the pain he’s caused Stiles.

He leans against the kitchen sink for several long moments, struggling with his own thoughts until he feels himself reach a decision he doesn’t really like, but feels is necessary. He’s pretty sure it’s what she wants at this point anyway. He pushes himself away from the counter and steels himself for the conversation ahead as he steps back into the living room. She’s still staring out the window. “Lydia.” 

Lydia hears him coming back to the living room. She doesn’t turn until he calls out her name, though. And somehow, it feels… _heavy_. She straightens a little as she faces him, but doesn’t say anything.

He meets her eyes, his chest feeling tight because this isn’t what _he_ wants, but he’ll do what he thinks she wants every time. “This clearly isn’t working.” His voice is quiet and he looks down at the floor for a moment, willing himself not to cry. “So uh -- you should stay here. I’m gonna grab a few things and move back to the motel until I find somewhere else to go.” 

She was set on leaving. She still thinks it’s the best decision for both of them. And Scott clearly agrees. But hearing him say those words makes her stomach tighten. It’s almost like she’s going through another breakup again. Except Stiles can at least say it to her face. She wraps her arms around herself when her eyes tear up slightly, but she shakes her head. “I already started packing, you can stay.”

He shakes his head, too, slowly moving closer to her. “Most of this stuff is yours,” he says softly. “I can just have my bed shipped to me whenever I get a new apartment. Okay?” He reaches out and squeezes her shoulders gently. “Plus it’s only fair. You found this place to start with.” 

Her face crumbles slightly when he reaches for her shoulder, so she looks away. She doesn’t really want him to go. She doesn’t want to be alone again. But she also know it’s for the best. Jackson already knows about this house. If he comes looking for her again, and Stiles is there… she doesn’t want him getting hurt because of her again. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she whispers quietly, her voice cracking slightly so she keeps her head down. It really felt like it was going to for the most part of a week, but she should have known better.

“It’s not your fault, okay?” He shifts closer and pulls her into a gentle hug. “We’ll just be what we’ve always been. Friends who don’t live together.” He intentionally makes his voice lighter than he feels, because he doesn’t want her to feel bad or responsible when it just apparently isn’t meant to be. He should have known that Scott and his dad would be right about this, and he’s not looking forward to the _I told you so_ ’s in his near future. 

She wraps her arms around him loosely this time. Because she’s trying hard to control her emotions and right now, she’s failing. “He won’t-- bother you again,” she whispers quietly. She’ll deal with Jackson herself. Somehow.

He shakes his head, jaw tightening at the mention of Jackson. “I’m not worried about him,” he answers. At least not as far as it comes to his own safety. One way or another, he’ll make sure Jackson doesn’t bother _her_ again. He presses a kiss to her temple. “Just stay safe.” He reluctantly pulls away from her and starts toward the stairs, freezing when a loud thump is heard from somewhere above. 

Lydia nods slightly, watching him go and then freezing in place because of the noise. She takes a deep breath then starts toward the stairs, too. “I think it came from my room.”

He knows that asking her to stay there while he checks it out won’t do any good, and he’s tense at the thought that Jackson’s returned. He realizes belatedly he’s laid his phone down on the kitchen table so calling Scott for backup isn’t going to be something he can do if it _is_ Jackson. So he tries to prepare himself for what he imagines could be a very short, very brutal confrontation. He pauses outside her room, glancing at her over his shoulder before carefully pushing the door open.

She’s right behind him. Without thinking about it, she places a hand on his back and starts further into the room with him. It doesn’t take her long to notice what the noise was. All three of her pictures as on the floor. Two of them face down. And _one_ face up. The one of her and Allison. And as she looks down at it, she can’t help but gasp as she feels the chill on her spine again. 

Stiles stares at the picture for a long moment and the looks at her, confusion flickering over his face. Before he can say anything, the door slams shut behind them and he reaches out instinctively for the handle, but it won’t turn. “Are you kidding me?” he mutters. 

Lydia gasps again and turns around to face the door, taking a step back as she stares at it with wide eyes. “Call Scott.”

“My phone’s in the kitchen.” He leans his forehead against the door.

She sighs softly and her shoulders drop. “My purse is downstairs.” 

Stiles jiggles the handle again, to no avail. “It’s like it’s been locked from the outside.” 

“But there wasn’t anyone else in the house.” It’s an affirmation, but she also would like the reassurance. “Can’t you just-- mind push it like you said you did last night?”

“That was a fluke. I don’t --” He shoves against it with his weight. “I don’t exactly know how to turn it on and off.” 

Lydia sighs at that. Because she knows well how that feels. She turns away from the door, back to the pictures on the ground. “Did you see the pictures?”

“Yeah,” he says absently, kneeling down to peer at the lock on the doorknob. “Do you have like a bobby pin or a paperclip or something?” 

She doesn’t move at his request. “Stiles. Look again.”

“Little busy here right now, trying to get us out,” he reminds her. 

“You’re not _paying enough attention_ to the details for someone who interned at the FBI,” she says, voice a little tighter.

He heaves a sigh. “I _know_ your pictures fell off the wall, but I’m a little more concerned about how we ended up _locked_ in your room from the outside.” His own voice is frustrated but he gets up to look anyway. He pauses as he catches sight of the one picture that’s face-up. It’s a picture of Lydia and Allison early junior year, arm in arm in front of a tree, laughing. He’d taken it on his phone and given it to her as a birthday present the next year, framed. 

She watches him silently as he finally gets what she was saying. Once it’s obvious enough they’re on the same page, she adds: “The other two fell face down, and _hers_...” she says, voice quieter than before.

“Is the same one that fell the night we moved in.” He hadn’t given it much thought, except to note that the nail seemed to be lost. 

Lydia nods her confirmation, glancing over at him as she wraps her arms around herself. “What does it mean?”

Stiles draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, kneeling down to pick up the picture frame. He looks at her for a moment and then toward the door. “Allison? Are you here?” 

She turns to look at the door for a moment, then shakes her head when nothing happens. “I felt a chill when we walked in here but, nothing since. Nothing like the cemetery.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, carefully setting the picture on her nightstand. “It seems like too much of a coincidence.” 

Lydia steps back and sits down on the edge of her bed, eyes back on the picture of the two of them. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“She’s trying to tell us something.” He just has no idea what. He presses his lips together, watching Lydia for a moment and then moving over to the window, unlocking it. 

“But what?” she asks, her eyes widening when she realizes what he’s doing. “You’re not thinking of jumping, are you?”

“I’ve jumped from higher roofs.” He slides the window frame up, glancing at her over his shoulder. 

“You’re gonna get hurt,” she points out, getting up and walking over to him, before glancing down toward the street. “It’s too high, Stiles.”

“We have no phones and the door is locked. Do you really wanna be trapped in here until someone decides to come looking for us?” 

“I rather be stuck here with you in one piece, yes,” she says, arching her eyebrows at him.

He decides against making a joke about activating her banshee powers again if he _did_ jump. She probably wouldn’t find it as funny as he does. “So then what do we do?” He glances down at the ground. It _is_ a long way and he’s not exactly fifteen anymore. Plus with his luck he’d end up breaking his arm and needing surgery again.

“You don’t go a day without talking to Scott. When you don’t answer your phone, he’ll show up here.” At least she has a bathroom in her room so they won’t get dehydrate. Considering how often she’s felt like crying since the previous night, that’s probably important.

Scott will probably assume Jackson’s killed them both, he thinks sourly. He spots the bags in the corner, obviously packed just like she’d said. “Would you have said goodbye?” 

Lydia glances back at the bags when he speaks up and her stomach tightens. She glances at him, then moves to sit back down on her bed, before shaking her head. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

He tries to ignore the stab of hurt he feels in his chest at that admission. “Right.” 

“Knowing what Jackson did to you-- I guess I can’t blame you or Scott for feeling that way,” she says quietly, looking down at her lap. It was her choice. The pack never kicked her out, they wouldn’t. But she knew choosing to be with Jackson would mean choosing to be less involved in all of their lives. Again.

“What, exactly, is it you think Scott and I feel here, Lydia?” he asks seriously, turning to face her. 

She lets out a breath and hesitates for a moment, turning to look up at him. “Being around me. Your dad and Scott didn’t want you to move in with me at all. You admitted it was a mistake.” 

Stiles blinks a couple of times. “No, I said maybe trying to get between you and Jackson was a mistake, but I never said moving in with you was a mistake.” And there’s a big difference there. 

“What’s the difference, Stiles? He’s probably not going to leave me alone anytime soon. I don’t want to be the reason he’s going to come after you,” again.

“He’s going to leave you alone.” There’s certainty in his voice. “Because this isn’t Los Angeles. He doesn’t have anonymity here and I’m not in high school anymore. He’s not the big man on campus these days.” He leans against the wall.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she says tightly, but there’s a hit of fear in her expression as she sits up. “Stiles, he’s always hated you the most. He’s always been more jealous of you than of Scott. He’s probably thinking all kinds of things about us living together. You _can’t_ try anything. He’s going to kill you.”

At that moment the picture frame on her nightstand falls off onto the floor again. 

His gaze travels over to it and then up at her, arching his eyebrows. “I don’t think he will.” 

Lydia jumps and turns to looks at the nightstand, her heart skipping a beat. And then she looks back at him.

Stiles smiles faintly when their eyes meet. “I’m not going to go after Jackson, Lydia. But if he comes near me, or you, or Scott…” He presses his lips together. Then all bets are off. He’ll go after him with everything he has. 

“You did that?” she asks, glancing at the frame again, then back at him.

“No. I think our friendly spirit did that.” 

“I don’t feel any spirits,” she says, then shakes her head. “And anyway. Jackson is _not_ your responsibility. Or Scott’s.”

“He isn’t yours either.” His voice is even and he gives her a meaningful look. “Just because you were married to him doesn’t mean you can claim responsibility for his actions or anything he chooses to do.” 

“He’s here because of _me_. You told me he broke your _arm_ because of me. Yes, he is my responsibility. And it is my responsibility to keep him away from the rest of you.”

“He broke my arm because he’s an _asshole_ ,” he responds heatedly. “Not because of you. When you take responsibility for the shitty things he does, you’re essentially excusing his behavior, Lydia. How do you not see that?” 

Her eyes widen at his tone, but her jaw clenches. “I’m not _excusing_ anything, Stiles! I know I’m the reason he’s still around you at all! I’m taking responsibility for _my_ choices! Or do you not remember all the times you came to _warn_ me about him before?”

Stiles shakes his head, frustration growing. “Did you call and ask him to come here? Because unless your answer is _yes_ , then….” He pauses, something dawning on him. “Wait. How the hell _did_ he know where to find you?” 

“Of _course_ I didn’t call him. I never wanted to see him again!” She shakes her head at his other question, then blinks a couple of times in confusion. “Tracked my scent? I never even told him I was coming to Beacon Hills.” And then she pauses and sighs, looking down. “I’m sure my mother did, though.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Look. What I’m trying to say here is that just because he tracked you down doesn’t make it your fault. Okay? This isn’t your fault. And believe it or not, I learned a few things about how to defend myself when I was in D.C.” 

It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t have her phone with her. Or she might be calling her mother and ruining whatever little is left of their relationship, too. She sighs tiredly at Stiles’ words and shakes her head. “Why are your dad and Scott so against you being around me, then, Stiles?”

At that, he cheeks grow warm and he turns away from her, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. “That is -- not even relevant to any of this.” 

“It is to you moving out, though,” she says quietly, looking away too. And she knows it’s a problem with her. If it was just Jackson, he wouldn’t hide it.

“It really isn’t. You’re the one who doesn’t think this is a good idea,” he responds. 

“I never said that,” she says, frowning as she lifts her head. “You and Scott were discussing it last night. And don’t try to deny it.” Her voice becomes a little harder, because it does hurt. 

“Fine. _Fine._ My dad and Scott are afraid that living with you is going to stir up old feelings they don’t think I’ve ever gotten past, okay?” He shuts his eyes and after a moment he slides down the wall to sit on the floor. 

She pauses at that, arching her eyebrows slightly. Because of course she knew Stiles had a crush on her when they were younger. Jackson never let her forget. But-- it was just a teenage crush. “That was over 10 years ago.”

A humorless chuckle escapes him and he rolls his head to look at her silently. 

Lydia arches her eyebrows a little, confused by his response. But she’s afraid to ask.

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” He shrugs and looks away again.

She stares at him for a moment, then sighs and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to think about that right now. It doesn’t matter, anyway. If that’s the case, she knows Scott and the Sheriff are both wrong. “Stiles. Why are you really moving out, then?” she asks quietly.

“So you _don’t._ ” His voice is flat and he looks over at her already packed bags. 

“I thought you and Scott were talking about _me_ ,” she says quietly, looking down at her lap. “You’re not getting in the middle of anything with Jackson because-- there’s _nothing_ left.”

“Well, we weren’t,” he says tiredly. He’s glad to hear that she’s done with Jackson even if he thinks some part of him will always doubt it just a little. 

“Then don’t leave,” she all but whispers, glancing toward him.

He pauses, slowly looking up at her, sure he misheard her. “What?” 

“I don’t want you to go,” she says quietly, then takes a deep breath. “Not if-- it’s because I overheard something and interpreted it the wrong way.”

“Can we just -- agree to try and give each other the benefit of the doubt in the future?” he asks softly. 

Her eyes tear up slightly, but she nods, looking at him for a moment longer then looking away.

“I don’t want to leave.” His voice is still quiet. “And I don’t want you to leave.” He hesitates a moment, not taking his eyes off her. “I’ve missed you so much, Lydia. You have no idea.” 

Her eyes tear up even more at his words. But it’s how _open_ his tone is that actually make her look at him again. “I missed you too,” she admits quietly. And she didn’t realize how much until that night in his motel room. Where they were able to have conversations about so many things, on the same level, without her feeling like she had to measure her every word carefully. She could just _be_. Be who she used to be. Even if for a little while. 

His chest feels tight at the sight of her tears and he holds his breath for a long moment. “Wanna give this another shot?” 

Lydia nods slightly and takes a deep breath, trying hard not to break down. “Yeah.” 

He slowly pushes himself to his feet and moves to her side, wrapping his arms around her wordlessly. Unbeknownst to either of them, the door quietly unlocks once more.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles wakes up slowly, lifting his head just slightly off the pillow and squinting at the sunlight filtering through the blinds, groaning a little and letting his eyes close once more. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles.

Lydia is fast asleep until she hears a voice. She frowns slightly and opens her eyes because she can’t quite make out the words. “Stiles?” she whispers when his face comes into focus and slowly she remembers where they are and why he’s there.

He grunts at the sound of his name. “Just five,” he responds. 

She cocks her head a little and unconsciously squeezes his hand. That’s when she realizes her fingers are wrapped around his and that makes her pause, eyes falling to their hands.

He sighs at the soft pressure on his hand and slowly opens his eyes, blinking a few times when he sees Lydia laying in front of him, holding his hand. Oh. One of those kinds of dreams again. He watches her for a moment, then lifts their hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles as he lets his eyes close. 

She feels something warm in her stomach when he kisses her hand. The way his expression relaxes when he closes his eyes again. She purses her lips together, keeping her eyes on him. The previous day had been a roller coaster of emotions. She never imagined she’d end up spending the night back here, much less sharing a bed with Stiles because they got locked inside her bedroom. 

But it had turned out to be a good thing. They talked. And then they hugged and talked some more. And she really doesn’t want Stiles walking out of her life again. Before, she was glad he was back. Now she wants to fight to make sure it stays that way. She had countless arguments with Jackson over the years but she doesn’t think she ever felt heard the way she did with Stiles when they were arguing. There was always just… _anger_ and yelling. Not understanding and actually wanting to make things work on his part. 

And although she knows what she has with Stiles isn’t a relationship, she also knows the way he treats her makes her feel a lot better than the way Jackson did. Regardless of what they have.

He drifts in and out of sleep for a few minutes, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s vaguely surprised when his brain registers that Lydia’s still there. His eyebrows furrow, mind still cloudy with the remnants of his dreams. “You’re still here.” 

She doesn’t even know how long she’s been lying there, watching him sleep. But his words make her come back from her thoughts and she smiles a little. “The door is still closed. I haven’t checked the lock.”

It takes him a moment to catch up with her words, his eyebrows furrowing, and he glances toward the door and then back at her, suddenly remembering why they’re in her room, on her bed together. _Not a dream_ , he realizes with a start, heart jumping in his chest. “ _Oh._ ” He looks down at their hands, holding his breath for a moment, and then lifting his gaze to her face. She doesn’t seem freaked out or upset about the situation, which makes him relax instinctively. “Right. We’re locked in.” 

“Yeah,” she tells him quietly, smiling a little. She notices when he looks at their hands then back at her, but when he relaxes again, she does, too. “I wonder if anyone noticed we’re not answering our phones.

As if on cue, Stiles heard Scott’s voice somewhere downstairs, sounding more than a little worried. “Stiles? Lydia! Are you guys here?” 

Stiles gives her a tiny smile and reluctantly lets go of her hand. “Cavalry’s here.” 

She smiles a little back at him and pulls her hand away, too as she starts to sit up. Before she can get out of bed, though, there’s a knock on her door and it opens a second later.

“Dude. We coulda used you here last night. We got locked in,” Stiles tells him as he sits up. 

Scott looks between them, then focuses on Stiles, eyebrows arching. “The door wasn’t locked.” 

“What-- do you mean it wasn’t locked? We couldn’t get it open last night,” she explains, finally getting up from the bed and running her fingers through her hair.

“It opened right up,” he tells them. 

“And there was nothing blocking the door or jamming the lock or the knob?” Stiles questions, moving toward it to examine it for himself. 

“No, dude. There was nothing.” Scott looks between them again, shaking his head. 

“It just-- slammed shut when we came in here,” Lydia explains, looking at the knob, too. 

“Are you trying to tell me your apartment is haunted?” There’s a hint of skepticism in Scott’s voice. 

“Oh, what, werewolves are real, but ghosts you have trouble believing in?” Stiles shoots back. 

Lydia hesitates at that, glancing over at Stiles because she can’t help but immediately think of their encounter -- or whatever that was -- with Allison the previous night.

“It might be haunted,” Stiles tells Scott without looking at him, seeing nothing unusual with the door lock or the knob. 

“If it was haunted, wouldn’t Lydia feel-- something?” Scott asks.

She purses her lips together and shrugs a shoulder. “I didn’t really feel anything last night but, I don’t know.”

Stiles arches his eyebrows at her, shooting her a look that clearly says _Really?_

“Not at the _house_ ,” she clarifies, staring at Stiles. She has no idea how Scott will react to hearing about Allison.

“Still counts,” he mumbles. 

“Wait, so you felt haunted somewhere that wasn’t your house, but you think your house is haunted?” Mostly Scott is very confused right now. 

“Yes,” Lydia says, letting out a breath. “I-- ran into Stiles at the cemetery last night. We were both visiting Allison,” she explains quietly. Glancing over at Stiles, but focusing on Scott. “And then-- I felt her. And I heard her, too.”

Stiles holds his breath as he sees his best friend grow very still. 

“You heard Allison?” His voice is barely audible. 

“Yeah,” Lydia says quietly, eyes on Scott. “She was telling me to remember something, I can’t figure out what.”

Looking dazed, Scott slowly moved to sit down at Lydia’s desk, sinking heavily into the chair. Stiles slowly moves over to stand beside him, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“But -- you didn’t actually see her?” 

“No,” she says quietly, moving to sit down on the bed, across from the chair. “Just-- felt an energy that felt like Allison.”

“And you heard her telling you to remember something,” Scott murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Lydia says, closing her eyes for a moment. “What something felt like,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “I don’t understand it.”

He looks down at his hands and shakes his head, too. “Does this mean she’s --” He swallows heavily, unable to look at them. “That all this time she’s not been at peace?” 

Stiles squeezes his shoulder firmly. “We have _no_ reason to think that, Scott. It’s the first time any of us has ever felt her presence since she died.” His voice is quiet. “And the whole -- after life isn’t as cut and dry as it is in stories.” 

“Stiles is right. And-- I’ve felt a lot of people who weren’t around before. Allison’s energy wasn’t-- _bad_. It didn’t feel like she was stuck,” Lydia adds quietly.

“More like she was visiting,” Stiles tells Scott honestly. 

“You felt her too?” He looks up at Stiles. 

He presses his lips together and nods before glancing at Lydia. 

“It felt like-- a wind. A strong wind, before she vanished,” she explains, eyes on Scott.

Scott doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he falls silent even as he nods. 

“When we got here, all the pictures on my wall were on the ground. The one of the two of us was face up,” she explains.

“You think Allison is the one haunting your apartment?” Scott looks between them, shock clear on his face.

“I don’t-- I don’t know, Scott. I feel like, if it _is_ her, she’s not haunting. She’s just-- here?” she tries, her voice quieter than before.

“But why? After all this time, why now?” His voice is small, hurt. 

Stiles shakes his head. “That’s what we want to find out.” 

“I was thinking about that, actually,” Lydia says after a moment. “We haven’t all been back here for an extended period of time since high school. Maybe-- that’s why,” she says, looking at Stiles. Because both their powers seem to feed off each other. Maybe Allison’s energy does too.

“Maybe she’s just saying hi,” Stiles murmurs thoughtfully, nodding. “It didn’t feel like some kind of warning of danger or anything, so that makes sense to me.” 

“Exactly,” Lydia agrees, turning to look at Scott again. “Whatever is going on, it might not be a bad thing.”

“When is anything supernatural here ever a good thing?” Scott asks quietly, looking between them before rising to his feet. 

“When has having Allison around ever been a bad thing?” she asks instead.

Stiles lets Scott think about that for a minute before he wraps his arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs and I’ll fix all of us some breakfast and we can try to figure this out when our stomachs are full.” 

Lydia stands up too and nods, smiling a little. “I’ll be right down,” she tells Stiles. She both wants to take some time to pull herself together and to give them time on their own.

He glances at her for a moment to make sure she’s really okay and when he feels like she is, he meets her eyes and nods slightly before leading Scott out of the room.

Scott remains silent until they reach the bottom of the stairs, then he turns to look at Stiles, still looking dazed from all the information he was just given.

“You okay?” he asks quietly as he guides him toward the kitchen. 

“What exactly did you feel?” Scott asks quietly, following him.

He draws in a breath, and considers the question. “You know how sometimes when you’re thinking about someone and then you turn around and they’re standing there? That feeling? It was pretty much like that, but I couldn’t see her.” 

Scott sighs softly and nods, then moves to sit down at the table, still lost in thought.

“Lydia felt her first. Heard her first, actually.” He moves toward the fridge, getting out the egg carton and pulling some bacon out, as well. He starts setting things on the counter, chewing his lower lip. “It’s the first time Lydia’s had any banshee stuff happen since she left Beacon Hills, Scott.” 

“She mentioned that,” Scott says quietly, shaking his head. “And that-- just adds to the why now question.”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, staring at the things he’s assembled on the counter for a moment. “There’s some stuff I haven’t...talked to you about yet,” he says just as quietly. “Since I got back.” 

Scott raises his head to look at Stiles at that. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he assures him, glancing over his shoulder. “Not _wrong._ Just -- “ He’s not quite sure how to phrase what he wants to say. “There hasn’t been a lot of time when it’s been just the two of us without distractions and it’s kind of a big thing, I guess.” There’s a hint of nervousness in his voice that he struggles to keep out but fails, and then he shrugs and turns back toward the things on the counter, starting to crack eggs and toss bacon onto a skillet. 

“What is it, Stiles?” He asks, voice a little tight because after the news about Allison, he’s not sure he can handle anything big.

“Seriously man it’s not -- bad. It’s not something we need to talk about right now, okay? Just trust me.” Stiles’ voice is quiet. He tosses the eggshells into the garbage can and glances at his best friend again.

Scott takes a deep breath and nods slightly. “Okay.”

Stiles nod his agreement. He wants to talk to Scott about the things he told Lydia last night, but he also knows the timing is all wrong at the moment. It would have to wait. There were other more pressing things at hand right now. 

***

Things are still a bit awkward between Stiles and Lydia for the next two days and he hates it. They talk, but it feels in a way like they’re tip-toeing around each other. There’s been no sign of Jackson since the night Scott ran him off, and he’s hoping like hell it stays that way. Nothing else odd has happened around the house. No pictures falling off walls or nightstands, no unexplained noises or feelings of familiar spirits have been around them. 

Tuesday is his day off so he spends the morning doing laundry and cleaning the house. He talks to Allison but there’s no sign she’s there and he feels kind of dumb for trying. 

At noon, he makes his way to the school -- which he hasn’t step foot in since graduation over five years ago and the moment he does, a whirlwind of memories sweep over him. Watching Lydia and Allison meeting at Allison’s locker the day the latter had gotten to town, walking down the hallways with Scott at his shoulder. 

There are other, less pleasant memories, too. Racing down the hallway trying to find an unlocked classroom to hide from a wendigo who wanted to kill him. Hiding with Scott and Lydia and Jackson and Allison in the lab from Peter who was trying to kill them. Attacking Mr. Yukimura in the history classroom when he’d been possessed. 

He does his best to shake them off as he walks, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he heads toward the math room where Lydia’s class should be about done for the morning. Just as he arrives outside the door, the bell rings and he waits as a few students rush out, making his way inside the doorway and lingering silently as a few other students gather around Lydia’s desk and she answers their questions. 

“I think your boyfriend is waiting for you, Ms. Martin,” one of the girls announces.

Lydia pauses mid-answer at the words, her stomach tightening as she looks from her student over to the door, eyes widening slightly but a smile appearing on her lips when she sees Stiles there. She knew it was his day off, but she wouldn’t expect him to come over to the school. If nothing else, she figured he’d go see Scott.

He smiles back at her, not having heard the boyfriend comment. “I’ll wait,” he tells her, nodding toward her students. 

“He’s really _cute_ ,” one of the other girls says, voice lowered as she looked at Lydia excitedly. 

“Thanks,” Lydia says to Stiles, just in time to hear the other girl’s comment, she shakes her head a little, but smiles. “Let’s focus on your question, okay?”

Stiles may have missed the first comment, but the fact that all the girls in the little group are shooting looks in his direction doesn’t escape him. Feeling a little awkward, he casually steps into the hallway, gaze shifting toward the library almost against his will. He glances back toward Lydia’s classroom and then slowly heads toward it, peering inside through the glass on the doors. It’s empty, dark. 

He doesn’t try to go in, which is good because he no longer has a student ID to unlock the doors anyway. For a moment he lays his hand against the wood and then rubs a hand over his face and moves away once more. 

It takes her about ten more minutes before she makes it out of the classroom after a group of giggling girls and one particularly unhappy looking boy that throws a glare toward Stiles on his way down the hall. 

“Sorry about the wait,” Lydia says, smiling softly at him.

He arches his eyebrows at the boy who glares at him intensely before stalking away down the hall in the opposite direction. Then he turns his attention to Lydia and smiles faintly. “Hey. Thought you might be hungry.” He holds up the bag he’s carrying. 

Lydia smiles softly back at him, looking down at the bag and nodding. “Starving, actually. Do you wanna sit outside?” The school is fairly empty and although today isn’t particularly hot, most kids prefer the AC to the sun.

“Yeah, it’s a nice day.” He offers her his arm without really thinking about it. 

She smiles softly and takes his arm, walking with him down the hall. “Good day off so far?”

“Productive one,” he tells her with a slight nod.

“What did you do?” she asks, eyes on him as they walk. Things are still slowly getting back to-- what they were before her freak out, but she definitely feels more comfortable with him again.

“Cleaned,” he admits with a tiny smirk. “Also did some laundry.” His gaze shifts to the locker room doors as they pass by. 

Lydia grins softly and she’s about to say something when she notices him looking away. She follows his gaze to the boy’s locker room and her stomach does a flip. Some memories stick with you more than others, she supposes. And she can’t help but wonder if he remembers that, too. “It still looks the same,” she comments quietly.

“The locker room?” he asks, startled by her words as he looks at her a little wide-eyed

“I-- yeah, I mean. From the outside?” she says, eyes widening too because she’s not sure why he looks so startled.

He stops walking, considering her words for a moment and then glancing back toward the doors. “We could see if it looks the same inside.” 

“I doubt anyone is using it,” she says, pursing her lips together as she looks up at him.

He meets her eyes again, nodding and then slowly moving toward the room, pushing the door open and stepping inside, holding it open for her.

Lydia takes a deep breath and starts into the room, smiling a little at him as she tries to ignore the fact her heart is suddenly beating faster. Like she’s sixteen again.

He meets her eyes and shares her smile, cheeks turning a little red as they look around, his eyes going right to the set of lockers where she’d once kissed him as he had a panic attack on the floor. “Looks the same.” His voice is quiet. “Guess some things don’t change with time.” 

“Yeah,” she says just as quietly, like speaking louder is going to disturb the memories of the place. She steps forward, glancing toward the locker he bumped against and stumbled to the ground. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

A short laugh escapes him. “Yeah. No kidding.” He looks at her for a moment, expression softer than usual. 

She glances back at him, a shy smile on her lips before she looks away again. “If you knew then what you know now, would you change anything?”

“Yes,” he says quietly. 

Lydia nods slightly, looking back toward the lockers and pursing her lips together. She would, too. There’s a lot she’d change. 

He reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. “But there’s no point in dwelling, right?” He searches her eyes. “As far as I know no one’s invented a time machine yet.” 

She turns to look at him and smiles softly, nodding. “Right. Might be better this way, anyway. It’d be too easy otherwise.”

He squeezes her shoulder and then drapes his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. “We don’t know how to do easy, Lyds.” 

Lydia leans against his side and wraps an arm around his back, then shakes her head as she smiles a little more. “Definitely not.”

“Come on. Let’s go eat. I cooked.” He winks at her and leads her back toward the door.

“You did?” she says, surprised as they step back out into the hallway. “What did you make?”

“Pasta salad, grilled chicken, zucchini, and chocolate chocolate chip cookies.” 

“Oh, you made cookies…” she smirks at that, then nods, stepping outside of the school. “Let’s see how you did.”

“Whoa. That is an awfully judgemental statement toward someone who is selflessly taking time out of his day to bring you lunch,” he protests. 

“Hey, I’m not saying yours aren’t good, but I told you about my cookies,” she points out, sliding down to seat on the bench.

“Yeah well these aren’t perfect tollhouse cookies, but they are awesome, so prepare to be wowed.” He sits down across from her and starts unpacking the different containers. He sets a plate in front of each of them and pulls out some plastic silverware and napkins and sets them down, too. 

She’s a little surprised by the set up, she watches him quietly for a moment then smiles. “This is a big production.”

He pauses at her words, looks around at all the food and things he’s brought. “Too big of a production?” 

Her face softens at the question and she shakes her head. “Thank you for doing this, Stiles.”

He relaxes at that and gives her a small smile. “You’re welcome.” 

She smiles back at him, then takes a bite of the pasta salad and arches her eyebrows. “This is really good.”

“I have _mad_ cooking skills,” he informs her. 

Lydia laughs quietly, shaking her head. “And I’ve never doubted that.” 

Stiles just winks at her. 

***

They agreed to meet at the library later that evening to research what they can about-- ghosts and spirits and whatever else they can find on the subject that might help them help Allison. Lydia makes her way in there a little after six, carrying two large cups of coffee. It doesn’t take her long to spot him. They didn’t come to the county library as often growing up, but they still came often enough for her to know he’d be at their ‘usual’ table. 

“Hey. Sorry it took me a while, there was a huge line,” she says, setting his cup in front of him. 

He glances up before she arrives at the table, spotting her as she moves toward him. He shakes his head at her apology. “No apologies necessary. Coffee’s on me next time, though,” he tells her as he takes one of the cups from her. There are no fewer than twelve books scattered around the table, plus his laptop and a couple of notebooks. 

“I got us a couple of brownies, too,” she says, setting the bag as far away from the books as possible. “Any luck so far?”

“You’re literally the _best_ ,” he exclaims, reaching for the bag instantly. “I’m starving. And not really. So far this is all the classic ‘a ghost lingers because they’re not at peace because their killer hasn’t been caught’ kind of stuff.” 

She grins softly at the excitement. “If I knew that, I’d have gotten you more than just a brownie,” she says, but she really appreciates how grateful he sounds. She nods at his explanation, though and purses her lips together. “I really don’t think this is a case of lingering because of unfinished business.”  
“I don’t either.” A few years ago he might have fully believed that’s exactly what it was about. Not that he doesn’t still feel guilty about everything that happened with the nogitsune - he’s pretty sure he always will - but he’s learned to move past it the best that he can. “Have you felt anything at all about Allison in the last couple weeks when you weren’t around me?” 

“I don’t think so,” she says, shaking her head as she sips on her latte. “I mean, I wasn’t really paying close attention until the cemetery but-- definitely nothing else since then. Not other than that brief chill that night in my room.”

He nods, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “Me either,” he agrees. “And Scott hasn’t felt anything, which...leads me to think this is about the two of us somehow.” 

“Yeah and-- that is the part that doesn’t make sense to me. Allison and I were close but, it doesn’t compare to the connection she had with Scott,” Lydia says quietly.

“I don’t know.” His voice is a little more soft now. “She loved you so much, Lydia.” 

“I know,” she says quietly, taking a deep breath. “And trust me, I’d never question that, but-- I mean, you saw them probably even more than I did when they were together, Stiles. It’s not something that most kids our age have. What they had was-- different.”

He can’t disagree with that. He chews his thumbnail as he thinks, then reaches out and takes a bite of the brownie. “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.” He sits forward in his chair and takes a drink of the coffee. “Maybe research isn’t going to do anything. Maybe we should try contacting her.” 

“Contacting her?” Lydia asks, cocking her head. “You mean-- literally trying to open a portal or whatever it is into the other side?”

“Uh, well, I thought we could maybe try something a little more low-key like a seance first, but we could shoot for the portal idea.” There’s a hint of teasing in his voice.

She smiles a little at his tone, then shakes her head. “Okay. I guess we can try the easy way first.”

“It’ll be a first.” 

“A first everything in this case,” she points out, sitting up. “So-- do we need to research on how to get that done, or do you know the basics?”

“I know how,” he admits. “I’ll need to get some supplies.” 

“Okay.” She reaches for her book and closes it. “We can drive together and then stop by here and get the car?”

“Sounds good to me, yeah. You wanna drive or want me to?” He starts closing up books, too.

“I can, I’ll just need you to tell me where to go. And if you want we can get you some food on the way,” she teases, smiling.

“I’m leaning toward tacos,” he informs her, shutting down his computer and piling his notebooks and pens together before popping the last bite of brownie into his mouth. 

“Sounds good to me, in that case, I’m saving this for later, unless you want it?” she says, offering him her brownie before reaching for her purse.

“Nope, keep it. If I have anymore sugar I’m going to revert back to sophomore year Stiles and no one wants to see that.” He smirks and rises to his feet. 

“I don’t know. I think it would be fun,” she teases.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Maybe for _you,_ ” he responds, nudging her with his elbow. 

She grins softly and nudges him back, then starts back toward the exit for the library. If she remembers correctly, this is a huge change from the last time they were here together, researching on their own. 

***

 

“Nothing new in this one,” Stiles says with a sigh, slamming the book he’s been reading shut and earning several _shhhh’s_ from nearby patrons who glare at him. He shrugs it off and reaches for the next book, glancing over at Lydia for a moment and then lowering his gaze. She’s wearing Jackson’s letterman’s jacket and it’s a struggle not to feel the jealousy that’s settled in his chest. 

She hunches a little more, pulling the jacket tighter around herself as she turns to glare at the people shushing Stiles automatically. “We’re not making any progress and it’s _freezing_ in here,” she says with a frustrated sigh. 

“At least you have a nice jacket to keep you warm,” he responds, tone neutral. He flips through the book in front of him, foot bouncing beneath the table. 

“And it’s obviously not doing me much good,” she points out, eyes narrowing a little as she stares at him.

He pauses when he feels her eyes on him and wordlessly he shrugs out of his own jacket, handing it over to her. 

Lydia pauses, pursing her lips together at the offer, then shakes her head. “Keep it. You’re gonna get sick. I’m just gonna go get some coffee or tea or something.”

“I’m not cold,” he says honestly. “Just take it.” 

She stares at him for a moment longer, then shrugs Jackson’s jacket off, laying it on her lap before taking Stiles’ and wrapping it tightly around herself.

He meets her eyes. “Better?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” she says quietly, holding his gaze for a second before looking away. 

He draws in a breath, nodding and dropping his gaze, too. “So you and Jackson are…” His voice trails off.

“What?” she asks, tone a little drier than before, because she knows exactly what he means.

“Back together?” He taps his thumb along the surface of the table.

“We’re getting there,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. She’s still not sure how she feels about getting back together with him but at least he’s been oddly there for her since-- everything that happened with Allison. 

Still, this is an opportunity she hadn’t found yet, and since Stiles brought up the subject, she figures she has the right to ask. “You and Malia seem to be getting pretty close.”

“Is that what you want?” His voice drops and he looks at her, gaze intense until she asks about Malia. He instantly drops his gaze to the table. “I seem to be her anchor.” 

Lydia’s stomach turns at that revelation. She stares at him for a moment, her face feeling warm so she reaches to take a drink of her water. “It seems to be more than that,” she says, ignoring his question. Because she doesn’t know what she wants.

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, sinking down into it a little farther. “I don’t know what we are,” he says after a moment. 

“Right,” she mutters quietly, looking away, her chest tight. She feels like she’s somewhere between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. And she’ll just blame that on the fact that she’s barely seen Stiles at all. Not one on one. Not since that day she went to see him before Allison’s funeral. “I hope it works out for you, whatever it is.”   
“You don’t like her.” It isn’t a question. He glances at her and looks back down at the book in front of him. He can tell every time the three of them are together that Lydia can barely withhold her disdain of the newly human coyote. 

“I barely know her,” she says, her expression as neutral as possible as she glances at him then back down at her book. But she has been doing her best to avoid being around the new girl. She misses _Allison_ and her being there just reminds her how much things have changed.

“You don’t want to.” It isn’t accusatory, just a statement of fact and he cradles the book in his arms, studying the text with feigned interest. 

Lydia’s jaw clenches and she stares at him for a moment. Her face feels incredibly warm now but it’s pure anger this time. “What do you _want_ from me, Stiles?” And he’s lucky they’re in a library or her voice would be a lot louder than that.

Stiles looks up at her, clearly caught off guard by the sudden anger. “I don’t want anything from you,” he lies, voice flat. “I thought we were just talking.” 

She takes a deep breath at his response, because she knows it’s a lie, but she also doesn’t wanna bother with arguing right now. There’s no point. “I need a break,” she says, closing the book she barely looked through and getting up.

“Fine,” he mumbles, sinking down farther in his chair, stormy look on his features.

She shrugs his jacket off and leaves it on the table, sliding Jackson’s back on and grabbing her phone before she turns and heads for the exit. 

By the time she finally returns he’s passed out on the table, face smooshed into the book beneath his cheek. Most everyone else in the library is gone already and several of the lights have been turned out.

Lydia stares at him for a moment. It’s getting late but since she hasn’t made as much progress as she’d have liked, she figures she’ll let him rest. But the AC _is_ freezing in the whole building and she never believed him about being cold so she picks up that is still where she left, then makes her way around the table. She hesitates for a second before draping it over his shoulders.

Even though they haven’t really been around each other, she knows he’s been on research mode full time for days now. His body probably had enough and made him sleep. With a soft sigh, she returns to her chair, zips up the jacket and gets back to reading. 

He starts awake a few moments later, looking around with slightly wild eyes until his gaze lands on her. He looks confused and then blinks a few times. “What time is it?” 

Lydia checks her phone, ignoring the missed messages she has on it. “Almost ten, we have about fifteen minutes before they kick us out,” she explains, looking at him.

He rubs his hands over his face. “You stayed?” 

She frowns slightly at the question. “I wasn’t just going to leave you here on your own.”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again, expression softening in that way it does when he looks at her. “Thanks,” he says quietly. 

Lydia holds his gaze for a moment, then nods as she looks away. “We should go,” she says quietly. 

“Yeah. I guess I failed with tonight’s research,” he murmurs, closing up the books and shrugging into his jacket. “You have any luck?” 

“No,” she admits but doesn’t tell him she just got back a little while ago. Her head was just-- refusing to cooperate with anything resembling focus today. “Maybe you just need some actual rest.”

He grimaces, but acknowledges her words with a nod. “Maybe.” Not that sleep’s really been cooperative with him overall. He hesitates a second. “Speaking of...any chance I can hitch a ride back? I think I’m too out of it to drive.” 

Lydia is a little surprised by the request, but nods. “Yeah.”

“Thanks, Lyds,” he murmurs. 

She stares at him for a moment, then moves to stand up and pull her purse over her shoulder. “Should we go?”

“Yeah.” He rises to his feet, leaving all of the books on the table but scooping up his bag and slinging it over his shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Yes, I understand what it means.” Lydia’s voice is even as she talks on the phone, leaning back against the kitchen table. “I understand. Yes, I want to go through with it.” She sighs deeply, pressing the bridge of her nose as she listens to the other person, clearly irritated. 

“The only thing I need from you is to know if the evidence I provided is enough for me to win this,” she adds sharply. “Okay, good. Now I need to know if I can trust you to be professional enough when you face your former partner, because I have no doubt his father will be defending him,” she presses. 

“Then that’s all I need. And do keep in mind all you have are copies of the evidence. And I’ll require you to send me a confirmation of everything we agreed in this conversation by email, no later than ten p.m. tonight. Otherwise I’ll be finding another lawyer.” As soon as she gets his agreement, Lydia hangs up and drops her phone on the table, sighing tiredly as she pulls out a chair and sits down.

Stiles didn’t _mean_ to eavesdrop. He just happened to be heading for the kitchen to get a drink as she’s finishing up and he pauses in the doorway, looking uncertain. “That...sounded heavy.” He cautiously takes a few steps closer to her. “Everything okay?” 

Lydia lifts her head to look at him, then tries for a small smile and nods slightly. “Yeah, just-- the process of getting a divorce when all the local lawyers worked in your ex-husband’s dad’s law firm can get pretty frustrating.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I probably could have helped you find a lawyer connected to the station.” He sits down across from her. “I mean, if you decide to change lawyers.” 

“I didn’t think about that,” she admits quietly, letting out a breath. “If I feel like this isn’t going where I want it to, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.” He nods, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. 

She smiles softly at him and squeezes his hand back. “I just want this to be over with. But it was his choice,” she says, shrugging a shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Even though they’ve talked a lot, not much of it has been related to her relationship with Jackson. Which overall is more than okay with him.

“Before I left LA, I tried to get him to sign the papers and get it over with,” she explains, exhaling. “He refused. I figured I’d give him some time but after the shit he’s pulled-- I called a lawyer and handed over all the evidence I have against him.” 

The way she phrases that makes his shoulders tense. “Evidence?” he echoes. 

Lydia lets out a breath at that and looks away. She hasn’t told anyone else about that part. Only her mother and the lawyer. And it’s the most humiliating part of this whole thing. “I caught him with someone else,” she says tightly.

Stiles stares at her for a long, disbelieving moment. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” 

She shakes her head slightly, her stomach turning at the memory. “Luckily I thought about pulling my phone out and taking a picture. Then I said something, I don’t remember what exactly, to let him know I was there and I just left,” she admits.

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, jaw tightening as he sits stock-still at the table. “You know what, you are -- worth so much more than Jackson Whittemore ever has been, Lydia. He’s literal _trash._ ” And now he wishes he’d at least punched him the other night. 

“I know that,” she says, her voice a little firmer. She takes a deep breath and looks over at Stiles. She hesitates for a second, then shakes her head. “I wish-- I wish I had listened to you.”

He wishes she had too but hindsight is always 20/20. He knows that from his own experience. He presses his lips together, meeting her eyes. “I know that feeling,” he says quietly. 

Lydia cocks her head, a little confused by his admission. “You do?”

“You never trusted Malia,” he reminds her, looking down at his hands. 

“No, but-- it’s not really the same thing, is it?” she asks, because she never told him she didn’t like Malia because of him, essentially. 

“Malia left town with Theo. Together.” He lifts his gaze to look at her once more. 

“... What?” she asks, arching her eyebrows, surprise clear on her face. By the time she got out of Eichen, she had been gone for a while, but there was so much going on and then graduation happened, she never got the full story. 

“And that was _after_ Theo nearly killed you and did kill Scott. Which doesn’t speak very highly about her loyalties.” Not just to him, but to Lydia. To Scott. The pack in general. “So I kinda get it. It’s not exactly the same but…” He knows enough about how it feels to have someone you care about cheat on you, betray you, and split. 

“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” she says sincerely, her eyes still wide. “I didn’t know what, exactly had happened to her. All Kira mentioned was that you guys had broken up and she left Beacon Hills.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really want to talk about it,” he admits, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug. “And I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it when it happened, which probably helped.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” she admits, smiling a little. Two days after she was getting everything packed to move back to Beacon Hills.

He gazes at her for a moment. “You wanna do something different tonight? I vote we go _out_ for dinner.” 

Her face softens and she nods. “Yeah, that sounds good. Give me some time to get ready?”

“Of course. I’m gonna make a couple calls while you do that.” He smiles faintly. 

“Okay,” she reaches over and squeezes his hand for a moment, then stands up and starts to her room. 

Stiles watches her go, and leans back in his chair, jaw tightening once more. He should have kicked Jackson’s ass in high school when he’d had the perfect opportunity. He really wishes he had.

***

“You’re not having doubts, are you?” Stiles casts a sidelong glance at his best friend as they round the corner in the school. 

“No,” Scott answers. This isn’t his usual method for dealing with things, but in this case he’s more than willing to make an exception. 

“Good,” he says as he spots Jackson at his locker. His hands instinctively ball into fists and his shoulder instantly aches at the tension but he doesn’t let it go. He’s never been good at letting things go. 

Scott casts a quick look around but the hallways are relatively void of students and he doesn’t hesitate to grab Jackson’s arm and shove him toward the locker room. “We need to talk.” 

Jackson immediately tries to pull his arm from Scott’s grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, McCall?”

He shoves him none too gently into the locker room, sending him stumbling into a locker as he glares at him. “Shut your mouth.” 

Stiles is almost surprised by the thinly veiled anger in Scott’s voice, but he quickly turns his focus back to the task at hand. “We’re here to give you a little warning, Jackass.”   
Jackson stumbles and hits his shoulder hard against the locker, but quickly stands up straight. “Maybe you need a reminder of the last warning I gave you,” he tells Stiles.

Scott’s eyes flare red and a low growl escapes him. “Touch him again and I’ll break your neck.” And sure, he’d heal from it, but it wouldn’t be pleasant either. 

Jackson’s eyes flare blue back at him and he growls back. “Then keep your girlfriend away from me, McCall.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” Stiles wonders, looking at Scott with furrowed eyebrows. “I mean I’d think considering your best friend is Danny you’d refrain from sexuality jokes. Whatever.” He steps closer to Jackson. “This is the only warning you’re gonna get. You lay a finger on Lydia out of anger the way you did me, and you’re gonna wake up to mistletoe being crammed down your throat and your lips glued shut. And then?” His smile is dark. “Then I’m going to set you on _fire._ Ask the remaining Hales how fire-resistant werewolves are to _that_ , you piece of _shit._ ” 

“Lydia is none of your business, Stilinski,” Jackson says tightly, a low growl in his voice as he takes a step toward Stiles. 

“Maybe I’ll just tell her you didn’t want her to get out of Eichen,” he responds idly, arching his eyebrows. “And that we had to actually lock you in a closet with supernatural powder so you wouldn’t stop us from rescuing her. I wonder what she’d think about that.” 

“Probably think he’s a total douchebag,” Scott responds, keeping his eyes on Jackson in case he tried to move closer to Stiles. “Dump him and find someone better.” 

“Wouldn’t be hard,” Stiles answers. 

“Someone like _you_?” Jackson smirks, focus still on Stiles. “And how about I tell her you _idiots_ broke her out and unnecessarily risked her life? Too bad you’re not allowed to _see_ her or you’d know how much of a bad shape she’s in thanks to _you_.” 

“She’s in bad shape because the quack doctor drilled a _hole_ in her head!” Stiles says heatedly. 

Scott’s tempted to reach out to steady Stiles but he doesn’t. 

“If you really think Lydia wanted to spend the rest of her life locked up in that place, you don’t know her at _all_.” Stiles knows she’s glad to be out of there. And yes, he’s dying to see her, to check on her and talk to her and make sure she’s really okay, but her mom hates him. 

“And if you and your little _amateur pack_ had stayed the hell away from her, she’d never have gotten hurt in the first place,” Jackson says evenly, this time looking at Scott. 

“Lydia’s part of my pack as long as she wants to be. It just kills you that it’s what she chooses,” he says calmly. 

Stiles’ hand clenches into a fist, his jaw tightening. “Don’t forget what I said. I will burn your life down around you,” he warns, turning to head toward the door. 

Scott’s surprised that Stiles doesn’t take a swing at the werewolf, and some part of him is proud of his best friend for walking away. A tiny smile touches his mouth. 

***

“Stiles?” Lydia calls as she makes her way downstairs. The house is pretty quiet and she doesn’t want to interrupt his phone calls if it’s something work-related. It took her a little less than an hour to get ready and she put a little more effort than usual. Because she wanted to feel good about herself instead of focusing on all the crap that’s probably still coming before she can finally be free from Jackson.

He’s finishing up an email on his laptop when he hears her call for him and he lifts his head in time to see her descending the stairs, hair curled and cascading around her shoulders. He shuts his computer down and rises to his feet, eyes full of warmth. “You look beautiful.” 

Her face softens and she smiles, looking down for a moment, then back at him. “Thank you.”

He smiles back at her. “You ready to go?” 

“Yeah, where do you wanna go?” She asks, adjusting her purse over her shoulder as she waits for him.

“Doesn’t matter to me. You can pick,” he tells her, offering her his arm and guiding her toward the front door. “What sounds good?” 

She takes his arm and smiles softly, thinking for a moment. “Italian?”

“Always an excellent choice.” He opens the door and then pulls it shut behind them as they head toward the driveway. “Your car or my jeep?” 

“We can take the jeep?” she suggests, not sure if he wants to drive or not.

His lips quirk upwards and he glances at her with raised eyebrows. “You know, I remember a time when you hated my jeep,” he teases, leading her toward it and pulling the door open for her. 

“I didn’t _hate_ the jeep,” she tells him, sliding into the passenger’s seat. “I just pretended I did.”

His eyebrows rise even higher. “Oh _really?_ ” 

“Why would I hate the jeep, Stiles? Okay, I did hate it that one time we drove down to Mexico and it broke down on us,” but to be fair, she was extremely irritated during that trip for entirely different reasons.

“It started working again though. I fixed it,” he reminds her. That hadn’t been a fun trip for any of them, really. It had also been the start of a very confusing relationship with Malia that hadn’t ended well for him. He winks at her and gently closes the door before rounding the front of the jeep and hopping in the driver’s seat. 

“So how much tape do you have on the jeep at this point?” she asks, a teasing tone to her voice as she watches him start the car.

He opens his mouth to answer, then narrows his eyes. “You know what, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, Lydia.” 

She laughs quietly and shakes her head. “We’re adults now, Stiles. You can take it to a mechanic, you know?”

“No way. No one touches Rosco but me,” he informs her seriously, grasping onto the steering wheel. 

“Okay,” she agrees, smirking a little as she glances at him.

“Don’t give me that look.” He glances at her, too, making a face at her. “I was away from her for five years. I have the right to be protective.” 

“Hey I’m not saying you don’t,” she says with a shrug. “I’m just saying she survived a long time and might need more than tape now.”

“ _Maybe_. So far so good, though.” He pats the dashboard gently. 

“Yeah, she seems to be doing well,” Lydia admits, leaning back against her seat.

At that acknowledgment, Stiles beams. “Thank you.” He pulls into the restaurant parking lot and shifts the jeep into the park position. “Shall we?” 

“Yep, I’m pretty hungry,” she says, smiling at him before sliding out of the jeep and meeting him in front of it.

He smiles at her and rests his hand at the small of her back as he guides her into the restaurant and tells the host they need a table for two. “Okay now I’m starving. This place smells amazing.” He follows the girl to the table in the corner and slides into one side of the small booth. 

Lydia slides across from him and takes the offered menu. This place is definitely a lot cozier and more intimate than the taco place they’ve been to a couple of times now, but with Stiles, she feels comfortable being here. “What are you thinking of getting?”

“Lasagna,” he says automatically. “And maybe fettuccine. Oh, or spaghetti. You?” 

She grins softly at his response. “Probably the eggplant. I’m assuming you’re starving?”

“Definitely. Ooh, breadsticks.” He reaches out and grabs one out of the basket when the waitress brings it. He breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth. “These are amazing. You gotta try one.” 

“I will,” she assures him. “Do you want some wine?”

He considers, then nods. “Why not? Tomorrow’s Saturday.” 

Lydia grins softly and orders them a bottle of red along with some water. Once the waitress leaves, she reaches for the breadstick. “So how was work today?”

He leans back in the booth. “A little better. Came across a potentially interesting cold case.” Aka: he thinks it probably relates to the supernatural. 

“Yeah?” she asks, cocking her head. “What is it about?”

He leans in closer and lowers his voice. “My initial feeling is that it’s fairies,” he admits. 

She arches her eyebrows slowly, giving him a look. “Actual-- tinkerbell type fairies?”

A short chuckle escapes him. “No, and yes. About that size, but not nearly as friendly or helpful.” 

“So more of a pixie?” she asks. “What makes you think that’s what it is?”

“Because there was a broken fairy ring in one of the pictures of the crime scene,” He tells her. “I may have made copies of the file.” He flashes her a smile.

“Of course you did,” she smiles a little and shakes her head. “How long ago was this?”

“Eight years,” he admits. “Which means it’s entirely possible they’ve left Beacon Hills by now, but it’s worth looking into just in case.” 

“I guess that was just before Scott was bitten,” she says quietly, frowning a little.

“Yeah, not too long before,” he says with a slight nod. He watches her. “Wanna help me look into it?” 

“Sure,” she agrees easily. “Maybe it will give me some insights on-- banshees,” she says.

And he feels like it’s a fairly risk-free case at this point, which means neither of them should be in inherent danger. Plus he’ll pull Scott into things. “Speaking of insights on banshees.” He shifts in his chair a little. “The full moon’s tomorrow. We should be good for the seance.” 

Lydia holds her breath at that, then nods slightly. “Good,” she answers, expression a little hesitant. “Are we going back to the cemetery, then?”

“It might work better there, but the house might be safer.” Since they’d be inside the relative safety of their house. He chews his lip for a moment. “What do you think?” 

“I don’t know… I’m afraid of trying it in the house and not managing anything and then having to wait another month,” she admits. “But at the cemetery might be too-- overwhelming.”

He nods, considering. “What about the old Argent place?” He drops his voice a little. 

Lydia purses her lips together and nods slightly. “Might be a good middle ground.”

Stiles watches her for a moment, then nods, too. He starts to say something else when the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stands on end and he grows tense and still, nothing but his eyes darting around the restaurant. 

“Stiles?” Lydia asks quietly, frowning at the look on his face but not looking around just in case.

He lets his gaze move back to her face and gives her a small smile. “Do you have a pen?” 

“Yeah…” she says quietly, frowning still as she reaches in her purse and holds her pen out to him.

“Thanks. Forgot to write down a debit thing earlier,” he tells her cheerfully, jotting down three words on a napkin and underlining them. _We’re being watched._

Her stomach drops when she reads the words. As much as she wants to look around, she shifts on her seat and does her best to keep a smile on her face. “How bad is the debit?”

“It’s not enough to cause me to be overdrawn, but it’s more than I wanted it to be. Too familiar.” He doesn’t look across the room where Jackson’s sitting alone at a table, staring at them. 

Familiar doesn’t sound good. Her first thought is Peter, but she doubts Peter would actually stay away and watch instead of coming over and being obnoxious. She’s about to say something else when the waitress brings them their wine. She smiles up at the woman and takes the opportunity for a quick glance behind her. Her stomach immediately drops even though she pretends not to see her ex-husband sitting there. Her smile remains on her lips, though.

Once the waitress leaves, she picks up her glass and holds it out to Stiles. “Here’s to getting rid of it soon enough.” 

He clinks her glass against hers, nodding slightly. “Good riddance to bad debts, right?” 

“Yep,” she agrees before sipping on her wine.

Stiles watches her for a second and then jots something else on the napkin casually. _Should I text Scott?_

Lydia reaches for the napkin and adjusts it in her hand so she can naturally drop it into her purse. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner.”

“Sounds good to me.” He lays his phone atop the table. 

“So, we need to start planning for our road trip,” she says casually but keeps her voice low as she moves the bread basket so that it’s blocking his phone from view.

“We do,” he agreed, nodding. “You ever been to Florida before?” He meets her eyes, feeling confident she’ll pick up on why he’s asking. 

“Nope,” she says, smiling back as she reaches for his phone and flips the side button to vibrate then grabs a piece of breadstick.

“I think you’ll like it. There’s always stuff to do.” He picks up his wine glass and takes a drink.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking things up,” she says, pulling out her phone and quickly writing him a text. “About routes and stuff,” she says as she quickly types _make sure you film us on our way out, try to get me and him on the video._ “I hope Kira and Scott can make it.”

“It’ll be nice if the four of us could get away for awhile. Leave behind some of the bad stuff,” he agrees, casually checking his text and meeting her eyes for a second. 

“Yeah, I definitely wanna get away with you guys, after everything. I’m glad I have some good people back in my life.” And maybe she’s pushing it, but she actually raises her voice a little.

He reaches across the table and covers her hand with his own. “Always,” he says honestly. 

She turns her hand in his and gives it a soft squeeze. But she doesn’t want Jackson to target Stiles even more, so she pulls her hand away a moment later. Just as she does, though, she hears the loud sound of a glass shattering. This time she doesn’t pretend to look, she turns around and stares right at him, eyes widen.

Stiles looks, too, seeing that Jackson’s crushed his wine glass in his hand, and that he’s glaring at them. “Psycho,” he says under his breath, just loud enough for Jackson to hear. He picks up his phone like he’s going to send a text, but he turns on his camera instead, taking several pictures of Jackson with the broken glass sitting not far behind Lydia. 

Lydia sits up as she turns toward Jackson’s table. This wasn’t an issue until he became a danger to Stiles and possibly to everyone else in the restaurant. “You need to leave.” She says, voice a normal tone, but she knows he can hear her perfectly clear.

Jackson picks up the glass of water on his table and hurls it toward them. “I’m gonna kill you,” he announces, glaring at Stiles. 

Stiles glances around at the other restaurant patrons, all staring at Jackson in shock. “You all heard that, right?” His voice is full of feigned shock. 

Once she’s sure Stiles isn’t hurt by the glass, Lydia stands up. Her heart is beating fast, her hands are shaking but she’s not going to let Jackson hurt Stiles. 

Before she can say anything, their waitress announces behind her; “The cops are on their way!”

“This isn’t over, Stilinski,” Jackson warns. He shifts his gaze to Lydia, eyes growing dark. “ _Slut._ ” He turns and heads toward the exit, knocking over a couple chairs on the way. 

Lydia watches him leave then lets out a breath and turns to look at Stiles. “You okay?”

“Other than wanting to knock his fangs down his throat?” He presses his lips together. “Are you okay?” 

She sits back down and nods slightly, glancing toward the door just in case before looking back at Stiles. “Did you get it on video?”

“Every crazy moment,” he assures her, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. 

Lydia gives him a small smile and nods. “Thank you.”

“You wanna just get the food and go home?” he asks quietly. After they talked to the sheriff’s deputies, anyway. 

“Yeah, but maybe go somewhere else,” she says quietly, not wanting to specify where, exactly, for the time being. 

“Yeah, we can do that,” he agrees, sitting down beside her in the booth. 

She looks up at him for a moment, then shifts a little closer and lets out a breath before she reaches out and takes a long drink of her wine.

Stiles wraps his arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm soothingly. He leans in a little. “You sure you’re okay?” he murmurs. 

Lydia nods slightly and leans into his side. “Just a little shaken up, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay. We’ll talk to whoever shows up to question us and we’ll take off.” He texts the pictures and video he’d taken to her, to Scott, and to his dad so there were multiple copies just in case. Then he texts Scott and tells him what happened. 

“That glass didn’t hit you, right?” she asks quietly, cocking her head to take a better look at him.

“Nah, he missed by half a mile,” he assures her, squeezing her gently. “I’m okay. Promise.” 

“Okay,” she agrees quietly, smiling a little at him then leaning against his side. She’s more than a little shaken up. Seeing Jackson like that again-- she really only didn’t feel more threatened because Stiles was there and because they were in public. But now she knows it’ll be really bad if he shows up at the house when they’re alone again. 

***

Stiles doesn’t bother ringing the doorbell when they get to his dad’s house even if he kind of feels like maybe he should because this isn’t his house anymore and he feels like a visitor. But he’s mostly just concerned with getting Lydia inside safely, so he uses his key and ushers her in before locking it. “Dad,” he calls out. “Melissa?” 

“Stiles?” Melissa calls, coming into the living room from the kitchen in her pajamas.

“Hey, sorry to just come over unannounced. Uh, is it okay if we crash here tonight?” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“Of course. Did something happen?” she asks, already reaching into her robe’s pocket and pulling out her phone to check for missed calls. But it’s Stiles’ phone that starts ringing.

“Yeah, kind of,” he admits as he reaches for his phone, giving Lydia a reassuring look and pressing it to his ear. “Hey, Dad.” 

Lydia smiles a little at him and nods, then turns to Melissa while Stiles talks to his dad. “We were out to dinner and we ran into Jackson,” she explains quietly. “He was-- angry and I’m afraid he might show up at the house at some point tonight.”

Melissa frowns at that, reaching out and draping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m making tea,” she tells Lydia, guiding her toward the kitchen. “Tell me what happened.” 

Once in the kitchen, Lydia sets their take out bag on the counter and takes a deep breath. “We had just arrived at the restaurant when Stiles noticed him there, a couple of tables behind me. We just kept on talking and I guess Stiles touched my hand or something and Jackson just crushed the glass he was holding in his hand.” 

Melissa pours two glasses of hot water and carries them toward the table. “Is he trying to get you back?” she asks cautiously. She’s heard a lot of things about Jackson Whittemore over the years - from Stiles _and_ Scott - and not much of it’s been good. 

“I guess, I don’t know what he wants. I refuse to talk to him,” she admits quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. If everything he did to her over the years and the other night at the house weren’t enough, finding out what he did to Stiles and tonight definitely were.

She rests a hand on Lydia’s arm and motions for her to sit down. “What kind of tea do you like, Sweetheart?” 

Lydia smiles softly at her and sits down by the table. “Whatever you guys have. Chamomile or peppermint if you have either?”

“We have both.” She takes both over to the table, grabbing one of the peppermint for herself as she seats herself across from Lydia. “Are you all right?” 

“I’m okay,” she assures Melissa, smiling a little, then she lowers her voice. “I’m mostly worried about him hurting Stiles because he saw him with me. That’s why I suggested coming here.”

“Of course, Sweetheart.” She reaches across the table and squeezes Lydia’s hand. “I’m sure Stiles is just as worried about Jackson hurting you.” 

Lydia’s face falls a little, but she nods and looks down at the table. She knows he is. She just hates it that Jackson is back in their lives because of her.

A moment later Stiles strides into the kitchen and drops into the chair at the end of the table. “Dad’ll be back soon. There’s an APB out for Jackson,” he says, voice quiet as he glances at Lydia. “Scott and Kira are on their way over.” 

Lydia nods slightly at that information, letting out a breath. “Whoever goes after him, you know they need to be careful right, Stiles?” she says quietly.

“I know. Dad’s putting Parrish as the lead,” he assures her, reaching out and squeezing her arm. 

She smiles a little at him and nods. 

“You two are welcome to stay here for however long you think might be necessary,” Melissa adds, looking between the two of them.

“Thanks, Melissa,” he says, pausing when he hears the front door open. 

“Mom! Are you here?” 

Stiles squeezes Lydia’s arm again and rises to his feet to go greet Scott. 

“Thank you,” Lydia adds to Melissa, smiling a little. 

“Lydia, you’re family. You don’t have to thank me,” she assures her as she takes a sip of tea. 

Her face softens at the words and she manages to smile even though her chest tightens. She always saw the pack as family. As _more_ than family, really. They were the people who accepted her for who she really was, is. And maybe she forgot how nice it is to be around them over the years, but she definitely remembers it now.

Scott enters the room, immediately heading to Lydia’s side with Kira right behind him, both looking worried. “You okay?” He reaches out and lays a hand on her shoulder, meeting her eyes. “Stiles filled us in.” 

“I’m okay,” she assures them, getting to her feet to greet them. She looks at Scott for a moment. “You didn’t-- pick up on his scent on your way here or anything, right?”

“No,” he tells her, shaking his head. 

“Well, now that you have company, I’ll start setting up the rooms upstairs for you kids,” Melissa announces, kissing Scott’s and Kira’s cheeks before starting out of the room.

“Thanks, Mom,” Scott says, glancing between her and Lydia. “I’ll come help in a minute.” 

“I can go help,” Kira offers. 

“I can help too,” Lydia offers, getting back up from her seat.

Stiles watches the girls head up the stairs with Melissa and then turns his attention to Scott. “He dies.” 

Scott sighs and nods a little. “As much as I agree with the sentiment, maybe we need to give law enforcement a shot at this one before we do anything, Stiles.”

“Long-term law enforcement isn’t going to be able to contain a werewolf, Scott. Unless…” He cocks his head to the side.

“Unless we give your dad more mountain ash?” he tries.

“Unless we get his ass locked up in Eichen House,” Stiles finishes, arching his eyebrows. Which in his mind, would be the ultimate kind of karma anyway.

Scott considers that for a moment. “Do you think Lydia would be okay with that?”

“At this point? Yeah. I do.” He glances toward the stairs. “I told her about senior year when she was in Eichen.” 

“ _Good_ ,” Scott says firmly. 

He rolls his eyes and rubs his hands over his face before moving to sit down on the couch. “I think he’s really losing it, Scott. He literally threatened us in the middle of the restaurant in front of everyone.” 

“If he really is losing it, maybe we should call Derek,” he says, arching his eyebrows.

Stiles blinks a couple of times, then arches his eyebrows. “You mean since this is basically Derek’s fault in the first place? Call him and let him deal with the mess?” he asks wryly.

“He is his alpha,” Scott says, voice serious. “If Liam started acting up again, I’d feel responsible.”

“Yeah but let’s face it. We’re talking about Derek. The guy may have turned out to be not quite as serial killer-ish as I initially thought, but he’s not exactly a leader, either. Besides, he’s not even an alpha anymore. It’s not like he can make Jackson listen to him.” 

“I don’t think it matters, Stiles. Not unless Jackson was an alpha. Derek will still have power over him. He should, anyway. And if he doesn’t show up to help, we can deal with him.” And no, he doesn’t plan on _killing_ Jackson, but if he needs to stop him to protect Lydia or Stiles, he will this time.

“Do we even know where Derek is these days?” He looks up at Scott. 

“We talk sometimes,” he says, nodding. “I’ll give him a call and explain the situation.”

“Okay.” If Scott really thinks Derek can handle Jackson, he’s not opposed. Whatever gets the asshole away from Lydia once and for all. “I hate him so much.” His jaw tightens.

Scott reaches over and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder. “I do too. But at least we can keep her safe now.”

He exhales slowly, relaxing. “Yeah.” 

“Let’s just spend some time with the girls and our parents and relax tonight, worry about this in the morning,” he suggests. 

Stiles nods, patting his back. “Yeah. All right. Come on, let’s go help your mom.” 

***

“Okay, my turn then,” Kira says excitedly and sits up, smiling at Lydia. “Truth or dare?” 

Lydia smiles back and shakes her head a little. “Truth this time.” 

“Okay have you ever actually gotten anything _other_ than an A?” she asks, winking at Lydia then leaning back against the bed. 

She laughs softly at the question and nods. “I got a B once. I think it was in-- fourth grade. We had this English teacher who assigned us a book, I can’t remember which one it was. My mom got me an outdated edition, so I got a couple of questions wrong.” 

“Bridge to Terabithia,” Stiles says absently. 

Lydia’s eyes widen as she turns to look at him. “Yes, that was it. How do you even remember that, Stiles?”

His cheeks flush and his gaze darts quickly to Scott. “Uh.” 

“Because he left you chocolate and a note on your desk the next day,” Scott tells her, smirking. 

“ _Dude_. Bro code!” Stiles protests, tossing a handful of popcorn at him. 

“That was _you_?” Lydia gasps, shaking her head. “I didn’t even remember when that had happened exactly, but I do remember the chocolate. It was a peanut butter cup.”

“What did the note say?” Kira asks curiously, looking around at the three of them. 

“Do not,” Stiles orders, narrowing his eyes at Scott. “I _swear_.” 

And since Stiles is not glaring at _her_ , Lydia focuses on Kira. “Something along the lines of ‘I think you’re ace’,” she says, grinning softly and looking over at Stiles. 

Scott points at Lydia and grins. “I didn’t say anything!”

He groans and buries his head in his pillow. “I hate all of you,” he mumbles. 

Kira giggles. “That’s kind of adorable.” 

“I think it’s cute, too,” Lydia says. “And it did make me feel better. I cried all night because of that B,” she admits, keeping her eyes on Stiles.

“My mom cried happy tears if I _got_ a B,” Scott jokes. 

Stiles shakes his head and sits up again. “Yeah yeah I was a cute and adorable fourth grader. Moving on. Who’s next?” 

“I am.” Lydia says, glancing at Kira for a moment, then turning to Stiles with a smirk. “Truth or dare?”

He really doesn’t like the way she’s smirking at him. “Dare,” he responds, watching her warily.

“Damn you,” she jokes, considering him for a moment. “Okay, I dare you to-- let Scott tell us an embarrassing story about little Stiles.”drx

He groans. “Why do you hate me?” 

Scott smirks. “Okay let’s see.” He stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back on his hands, considering. He looks over at Stiles for a moment, then at Lydia. “Okay, this one time Stiles was _convinced_ he could fly like Superman.” 

“Ugh.” Stiles buries his face in his pillow again. 

“So even though I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea, he decided to try it out by jumping out of a treehouse fort we’d built in the woods in the preserve.” Scott tries not to laugh. “Except when he went to jump, his jeans snagged on a branch and he was stuck hanging upside down for five minutes before I managed to pull him back up.” 

Lydia laughs quietly and shakes her head. “I can definitely picture that.” 

“Guys, can we change game night to childhood stories instead? This is great,” Kira adds, grinning.

“Not unless you’re both going to start spilling stuff too,” Stiles says wryly. 

“I doubt most of my childhood stories will be shocking to you guys,” Lydia points out, looking between the boys.

“Yeah well unless you’ve got dirt to spill don’t expect to get all mine,” he says, nudging her with his foot. 

“I don’t mind sharing,” Kira adds, looking over at Scott.

Scott smiles at her and then leans in to kiss her softly on the mouth. 

Stiles rolls his eyes and tosses more popcorn at them. “Stop, this is my childhood room,” he whines. 

Lydia reaches out and smacks Stiles’ leg, smiling at him. “Let them be cute.”

“Be right back, smothering myself.” He tugs the pillow on over his face dramatically. 

“Okay, we stopped,” Kira says, smiling toward Stiles.

“Too late, I’m already blind.” 

Scott throws his own pillow at Stiles, smirking when his friend makes an _oomph_ sound as it hits his stomach. 

“I think it’s Stiles’ bedtime, he’s getting grumpy,” Lydia teases.

“I just need a Snickers,” he responds, nudging her again. 

“I might have a peanut butter cup somewhere?” she teases, nudging him back.

Kira gives Scott a look and arches her eyebrows slightly.

Stiles peeks out from under the pillow. “Are you teasing me? Because peanut butter cups aren’t jokes, Lyds.” 

“Yes, I’m joking,” she says, lowering her head a little to look at him. “I don’t usually keep them in my purse.”

He groans. “But now I want them and I don’t have any.” 

“C’mon,” she pokes his arm gently. “Do you guys want to continue the game or not?”

“No, because apparently it’s pick on Stiles night. Let’s do something else.” He sits up. 

“Like what?” Scott asks, arching his eyebrows. 

“I don’t know, why do I always have to be the idea guy?” 

“You have always been the idea guy,” Kira points out with a shrug. 

“We could make cookies if Melissa has all the ingredients,” Lydia suggests, focusing on Stiles. She promised him she would and she hasn’t gotten a chance to make them for him yet.

His eyes light up. “Yes, let’s do that. Cookies it is.” He rises to his feet and holds his hand out to help her up. 

“Stiles, I don’t know, you remember what happened the last time we were baking cookies in the middle of the night?” Scott says, looking worried. 

“Dude. Our parents can’t exactly ground us from each other anymore, Scottie. Get up.” 

***

After getting ready for bed in the pajamas that Melissa let her borrow, Lydia makes her way back into Stiles’ room. She smiles at him softly, hugging her clothes to her chest as she closes the door then turns to face him. “So… how do you wanna do this?”

His mind immediately goes to a place he really doesn’t mean for it to and he swallows hard. “You take the bed. I can sleep anywhere. Literally once slept across a row of hospital chairs hanging half upside down.” 

“I don’t mind sharing, Stiles,” she says sincerely, setting her clothes down on his desk then turning to him again. “I’d much rather that than you sleep on the floor or a chair.”

“You sure? It’s a lot smaller than yours,” he says, glancing at the twin size bed against the wall. 

“Yeah, I think we can fit, don’t you?” she asks, stepping closer to the bed, then pausing. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

Stiles nods, looking from her to the bed. “Yeah, we will.” He slips his shoes off. “You want by the wall or closer to the window?” 

“I’ll take the wall,” she offers, reaching to pull the blankets down before sliding into bed.

That’s what he prefers anyway. He’d rather place himself between her and the window _just in case._ Not that Jackson will try to do anything here. Even less chance considering he spread mountain ash across the sill. He smiles and waits for her to get settled, then slides beneath the covers beside her, turning on his side to face her. 

Lydia smiles softly back at him, then turns to face him as well. “Have I thanked you for everything you did today yet?”

“I didn’t really do anything,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. 

“You’re kidding, right?” she asks, lifting her head from the pillow and cocking it slightly.

“All I really did was get some pictures and video of Jackson being himself.” He shrugs. 

“And then you brought me here, and you brought everyone here,” she adds, arching her eyebrows a little.

Stiles considers for a second. “You’re welcome.” He still doesn’t think he did anything above and beyond but he doesn’t want to argue about it either.

Lydia looks at him for a moment, pursing her lips together. “It means a lot to me,” she adds quietly. The fact that she’s welcome here. The fact that she has no one, but five people there with her. People who care and want to keep her safe. It’s been a long time since she’s felt so… _protected_. Even if she doesn’t think Jackson would come here after them.

He holds her gaze for a moment, then shifts closer to her and drapes an arm around her waist. “This okay?” 

Lydia nods slightly, looking at him for a moment before wrapping her arm around his back. 

Stiles rests his head on his pillow, gazing at her quietly. 

***

She barely remembers nodding when Stiles asks her if she wants to sit up, but she does anyway. Her eyes still a little wide as she looks at him, when she sees all the glass coming down on her lap from her clothes and hair. She looks up at the broken windows of the clinic, then focuses on Stiles’ face again, unable to look away from him. He came back. He broke her out of Eichen. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly, carefully pushing her hair back out of her face and picking little pieces of glass out of the strawberry blonde strands.

Lydia looks down at his hand, then reaches over and wraps her fingers around him. “Is anyone hurt?” she whispers quietly.

“No. Everyone’s all right.” His gaze flits over her anxiously, trying to make sure _she’s_ really okay. “How do you feel?” 

“I’m okay,” she whispers quietly. Tired, her head is exploding and her throat feels a little raw, her whole body is sore. But she’s out of that nightmare and she’s awake, so she’ll take the pain.

He nods but doesn’t take his eyes off her, afraid if he does she’ll pass out or vanish or _die_ and tears prickle at his eyes as he carefully winds his arms around her. 

Lydia wraps her arms around him as tightly as she can manage as she closes her eyes. This is as close to safe as she’s felt in-- a long time. Since before she went to Eichen.

Stiles buries his face against her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking. “God, Lydia, I’m so sorry it took so long.” 

Her eyes tear up and she shakes her head slightly. “Don’t, Stiles,” she whispers quietly. “You saved me.”

“We should get you to Melissa,” he murmurs. “Get you checked out.” 

Her face falls and she hesitated before pulling away and nodding slightly. She knows she can’t just stay there at the clinic with them.   
“She’s on the way,” Scott says softly, hesitating a second before moving closer to her and hugging her gently. 

She hugs Scott back, letting out a soft sigh of relief and nodding slightly once again. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna...go wait for my mom,” he says, motioning the door. Stiles knows he’s mostly going because he wants to give them a few minutes. It’s probably all they’re going to have and they both know it. He gives him a grateful look. 

“Yell if you need anything,” Scott tells them before heading out. 

Lydia watches as Scott walks away, then turns back to Stiles, pursing her lips together. “How-- long was I out?”

Guilt flashes over his face and he looks down, swallowing heavily. “Three months,” he whispers. 

Her eyes widen and she stares at him in surprise. “Three months?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, unable to look at her. 

“It’s not your fault, Stiles,” she whispers quietly, reaching for his hand again so he will look at her.

His chest tightens painfully, but he threads his fingers through hers and reluctantly meets her eyes. “We kept running into roadblocks. Every plan we came up with failed until this one.” 

“Thank you for getting me out,” she says, voice just as quiet as before as she looks down at their hands. 

“I would never leave you in there,” he whispers. He knows all too well the kinds of horrors that lay in Eichen House. He hasn’t slept a lot since her mom had her admitted. 

She opens her mouth and closes it. She vaguely remembers her mom being in there, but she really doesn’t wanna ask Stiles of all people about her. “What about Theo?”

His jaw tightens ever-so-slowly. “Gone. He vanished right after he discovered he couldn’t steal Scott’s powers.” 

Lydia lets out a breath and nods slightly. She’s just glad he’s gone. She knows Scott is alive, that he’s okay, but she knows that was a close call, whatever happened. 

“Kira and Liam and Hayden are...I don’t know. Somewhere. They’re all okay.” He tightens his fingers around hers a little.

“Good,” she says, glancing up at him. She almost asks about Jackson this time. But if the whole pack was involved, she doubts he’d be. She’s not innocent enough to believe he’d work with them, even if it meant saving her. It’s not how Jackson works.

He’s very glad she doesn’t ask about Jackson, and he has zero intentions of going back to the school and busting the mountain ash line for him tonight. Fuck Jackson, he thinks bitterly. He spots another piece of glass in her hair and reaches out with his free hand, gently picking it out and tossing it to the floor. 

When he turns his head to look at the glass on her hair, she notices the trail of blood dripping from his ear. Her eyes widen and without thinking about it, she lets go of his hand and cups the back of his head gently, staring in horror. “Stiles, your ear.”

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs at the alarm in her voice. “I’m okay. I’m fine,” he assures her, searching her eyes. “And...yours is bleeding too.” He reaches up and gently wipes away some of it with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry,” she says to him anyway, watching him for a moment before brushing the sleeve of her robe gently against his neck to clean it up. “Mine doesn’t hurt.” Not compared to her head, anyway.

“Mine doesn’t either. It’s okay, Lyds. I promise.” He hesitates a second and then presses a kiss against her forehead, closing his eyes. 

She closes her eyes, too, letting out a breath and relaxing a little. Then she wraps her arms around him again, hugging him gently in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

Lydia is more than a little apprehensive tonight for a whole other reason that has nothing to do with possibly being attacked by her ex. As Stiles drives them to the Argent’s old house, she turns the silver arrowhead in her fingertips, eyes on it as it glisters every time the full moon shines down on it through the houses and the trees on their way. 

“What do you think are the chances of this working?” she asks quietly, glancing at him.

He glances at her sideways before focusing his attention on the road, tapping his thumb lightly on the steering wheel. “With the full moon? I think higher than usual.” He’s a little worried about using the ouija board to contact Allison and the possible other beings they could end up contacting instead, but he feels pretty confident about the protection spell he’s memorized. 

She’s pretty nervous about the _other beings_ part on the list of things that could go wrong. And while she’s not going to bring up the Nogitsune, she knows it’s a concern they share. “And between the amulet and your spell, you’re sure we’ll both be safe?” Mostly, she means him. Even though she knows she’s not immune to this particular supernatural issue, considering what Peter did to her.

“No supernatural being is going to have any interest in possessing me,” he answers with a slight shrug. “And that tea you drank earlier should prevent anything from touching you, too.” 

“Good,” she breathes, looking at him for a moment, then back at the arrow for a moment. The Lydia pauses, cocks her head and looks over at him “...and we’re not gonna get arrested for trespassing either, right?”

“No. The Argents still own the property.” His voice drops a little. “I talked to Argent.” 

“You did?” she asks just as quietly, her eyes widening slightly. 

“Yeah. I didn’t tell him what we were planning but I asked if it was okay that we be there. He didn’t have a problem with it. I also let my dad and Parrish know we’d be there but not what we’re doing.” 

Her face softens at that information. “You really covered all bases.” 

“I got better at that,” he admits with a small smile. “Of course it does help that everyone I talked to is an ally.” 

“But you thought of everything, this is definitely a big step up compared to high school,” she adds, smirking a little at him.

“Well to be fair, in high school it was basically jumping from one crisis to another without much time to allow for actual planning,” he points out.

“Point,” she agrees, smiling back at him. “You were the one who figured things out for all of us, anyway. Even without all the planning.”

“Yeah. Just didn’t always end well,” he says, tightening his fingers around the wheel and signalling when it’s time to turn. 

“When we didn’t have _you_ to plan with us, it didn’t,” she points out quietly, glancing at him. She’s always felt that way, back then she remembers feeling so completely lost without Stiles to help her figure out how to save him.

He draws in a slow breath at that. There’s no point in dragging out old skeletons to dance with now, even if it all ties together. “We always work better together.” 

Lydia holds her breath at that and looks over at him for a moment. It is one of the things she missed the most about him. Collaborating, working through things together, bouncing ideas off each other. So she nods slightly. “True.”

Stiles reaches his hand out wordlessly, palm upturned. 

She looks at him for a moment, then takes his hand and wraps her fingers around his.

“Almost there.” He squeezes her hand. “Any reservations?” 

“I just wanna get started,” she admits quietly, smiling a little as she squeezes his hand back. 

Stiles nods and lets go of her hand so he can stop the jeep and shift it into the park position. “Here we go.” He reaches for the door handle. 

Lydia takes a deep breath and watches as he opens the door. She glances at him one more time before stepping inside. Her heart is beating fast but she’s not surprised to see the house mostly empty -- Allison and Mr. Argent took most of the furniture to the apartment when they moved. The little that is left is covered in white sheets, which just makes the whole place seem creepier. She keeps any thoughts of Allison’s mother away as much as she can. Considering what they’re about to do and the fact that the woman literally killed herself in this house, she doesn’t want to pull her toward them. Instead, she focuses on memories of Allison and things they did together here.

“I think we should use either her room or the backyard.” Where she used to practice with her bow and arrows. He presses his lips together and turns to look at her, worried expression on his face. 

“Let’s do the backyard,” she suggests, glancing over at him after a moment. “She really liked practicing out there.” And it’s a place where she doesn’t remember ever seeing Victoria.

“Yeah, I know she did,” he says softly, smiling faintly though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“You okay?” she asks quietly, eyes on him when she notices his smile.

“I’m okay.” He holds his breath for a moment. “Let’s do this.” 

Lydia reaches for his hand again, then takes a deep breath and nods slightly. “C’mon.”

***

Stiles sits on the ground cross-legged in front of Lydia, mountain ash in a circle around them, along with multiple white candles burning. He reaches his hands out to her, over the Ouija Board, offering her a small smile of encouragement. “You ready?” he whispers. 

With a deep, calming breath, Lydia nods as she places both her hands in his. She slides forward slightly for a better grip and holds his gaze. “Ready,” she says quietly but her voice is firm. More confident than it’s been lately.

He nods. Here we go, he thinks. He closes his eyes, letting himself focus on the feel of her warm hands in his, the feel of the cool evening air surrounding them. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly as he begins to think of Allison Argent. He remembers her smile. The sound of her laugh. The way she’d roll her eyes when he said something stupid. He remembers the way loved Scott. Lydia. Her dad. 

She feels herself calming down slowly, and she focuses on memories of things they went through together. She remembers talking to Allison on her first day at school. Remembers all but demanding she went to the Lacrosse game with her. Getting a ride from her after she and Jackson had a fight and ending up spending the night at her house doing her nails and eating ice cream. She remembers how _happy_ she felt to finally have a real friend. Not someone who wanted something from her, or who wanted to be seen with her because she was popular. But someone who cared about her because of who she was. 

Lydia doesn’t even notice the way she tightens her hold on Stiles’ hand, or the way her eyes feel warm with tears. She just focuses on remembering.

Stiles murmurs a few words in Latin and the candle flames all surge upwards unnoticed. “Allison, are you here?” he whispers. 

_Remember_ , Lydia hears the whisper, a strong chill running down her spine again and she gasps quietly. “She’s here,” she whispers, keeping her eyes closed.

He doesn’t hear her, but he feels her presence and he swallows hard, trying not to lose his focus because maybe if he can just hold his focus for once, it will help Lydia be able to talk to her. 

_Remember._

“Remember what?” Lydia asks quietly, tilting her head up even as she keeps her eyes closed. “Allison, tell me what you want me to remember.” 

_Remember what it feels like._

Stiles hears the indicator move and he slowly opens his eyes to watch as it slides slowly around the Ouija board between the two of them. He holds his breath, a little stunned that it’s actually working. 

“What feels like?” Lydia asks, opening her eyes too when she hears the noise. Her eyes widen as she looks down at the moving indicator. But she frowns slightly when it stops with the wider end pointing at her, and the tip pointing at Stiles, right at the center of the board. She lifts her head slowly and looks at him. “What does it mean?”

“Just that she’s here, I think,” he murmurs. “Allison, what are you trying to tell us? We’re here and we’re listening.” 

The indicator moves to the letter _I._

“I,” Lydia repeats, her heart beating fast as she squeezes Stiles’ hand gently. She watches as the indicator moves again, frowning a little as it stops on _D_. Could mean I would or I. D., either way, she says the letter to make sure Allison knows they got it. “D”.

The indicator moves to the “I” again and Stiles squeezes Lydia’s hands back as he repeats the letter out loud. 

She licks her lips and nods as she glances at him. She can feel Allison’s energy all around them, she can feel it almost as strong as she did the night of the cemetery. And there’s so much she wants to ask her, but she focuses on the moving indicator once more. “O,” she says when it stops.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrow when the indicator moves to the letter “T” next. Before he has a chance to say anything, it flies to the letter “S.” And promptly stops. He blinks a couple of times. “She just called us idiots.” 

“Yeah…” Lydia mutters quietly, frowning as she stares at the board. “Allison-- is this really you?” she asks after a moment and the indicator just flies over to the _yes_ option. She is pretty sure it really is her because of the way she _feels_ but she doesn’t understand why she’s choosing this word out of everything she could say to them.

“Okay, uh -- why are we idiots?” Stiles asks warily. He feels like this is such a loaded question -- at least when it comes to himself -- that it could literally mean _anything_. He thinks it’s probably because they’re using a dangerous ritual to contact her. 

_”I have a date for you.”_

This time Stiles hears her voice loud and clear, as if she’s sitting right beside him. She may very well be, and he looks around with wide eyes. “Did you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” Lydia asks, confused as she stares at him. Allison is still there with them, but she can’t hear anything.

He shakes his head a little and holds his breath when he hears her next words, as if she’s telling him a secret she’s really happy about. _”It’s Lydia.”_ He slowly turns his gaze to look at the banshee, mind flashing back to the night Allison had shown up at his doorstep. It had thrown him because he assumed she’d been looking for Scott, but she’d announced cheerfully that no, she was there to see him. The night she’d told him Lydia was going with him to the winter formal so long ago. 

“Stiles?” Lydia asks quietly when he stares at her, her heart is beating fast against her chest and she suddenly feels a wave of frustration that she can’t quite place.

“I heard her,” he murmurs. “But it wasn’t -- I mean it’s something that actually happened?” 

“What someth--” she stops mid-sentence when she hears Allison repeating _remember what it feels like_ yet again. She hears herself asking Allison what she’s supposed to remember in an irritated tone. 

_All of those times in school when you see him standing down the hall, and you cannot breathe until you're with him._ Lydia gasps quietly and closes her eyes tightly. She can see herself in the car with Allison, her voice soft when she speaks to her. But only for a moment. The next thing she remembers is Stiles standing outside the door of her classroom, waiting for her to finish talking to her students. She remembers the warmth in her chest as she went to meet him outside, when he told her he’d brought them lunch. 

And she feels like she can’t breathe. She doesn’t notice the tears running down her face or how heavily she’s breathing. Everything around her disappeared as she listens to Allison’s words and watches the memory unfold in front of her.  
“Lydia?” Stiles draws in a shaky breath when he spots the tears rolling down her cheeks and he looks down at the Ouija board, but the indicator hasn’t moved again. She’s hearing Allison -- she has to be. “What’s she --” 

Before he can even finish his sentence, there’s a loud growl in the distance -- and not very far in the distance. He jerks his head over to see Jackson Whittemore at the edge of the Argent’s backyard, wolfed out and eyes glowing blue as he charges right toward them. 

Lydia takes a couple of deep breaths as she opens her eyes, staring at Stiles. Her hands over his feel warmer than before. But there’s more than that, it’s almost like she can feel his energy slipping in through her palms and into her body. Like she is truly connected with him. 

It only takes her a second to realize he’s no longer looking back at her and that’s enough to break her out of whatever trance she was in. She hears the growl, feels the threat approaching and before she can even realize what she’s doing, she’s getting to her feet and turning to face Jackson. 

The moment Lydia rises to her feet, Stiles does the same, eyes wide as the werewolf barrels toward their protective circle. He can’t touch them -- Stiles knows that because he laid down the mountain ash himself -- but he still finds himself fighting the urge to step in front of Lydia just in case. Instead he moves to stand right beside her. 

She can’t feel or hear Allison anymore. But she _can_ feel Stiles. He is just standing next to her, but his energy is irradiating toward her. And Jackson is barely feet from them. And he isn’t going to stop. 

Her jaw clenches tightly, she holds her hands up and without warning, takes a step forward and _screams_ as she pushes her hands out in front of her. She feels her entire body vibrate with the energy of her scream. But it’s controlled, strong, _directed_. Like a bullet. And she sends it right at Jackson.

Stiles catches the startled look on Jackson’s face right before he topples head over heels in a forced somersault, rolling away from them and wincing in pain. 

He turns his head to look at Lydia and wordlessly reaches out to take her hand in his, threading their fingers together before turning his gaze back to Jackson, narrowing his eyes and tightening his free hand into a fist. 

A pained cry escapes the werewolf and Stiles feels a spike of thrill run through him at the sound. “Stay down,” he orders, voice lower than usual. Commanding. Forceful. 

Even as she wraps her fingers tightly around Stiles’ hand, she can feel her whole body still shaking. No, vibrating with energy and adrenaline and maybe anger as she watches Jackson on the ground. “Let’s go,” she says quietly, evenly to Stiles without looking away from her ex.

Stiles nods, feeling the same energy and adrenaline that she’s feeling, and he keeps his eyes on Jackson as he nudges the mountain ash line with the toe of his shoe, blinking when all the candle flames suddenly go out at the same moment and he looks around, feeling like something just happened that was unintended. “Okay.” 

***

Lydia doesn’t say anything else until they’re back in the jeep, far away from the Argent’s house again. Her fingers are wrapped tightly around Stiles’ hand once more but she feels much calmer than before. In the back of her head, she knows something happened back there. Something big. Something important. But she also knows that between her and Stiles, they were able to stop Jackson from hurting either one of them, and right now that’s all she’s going to let herself process. 

“Should we go home?” she asks quietly after a long moment, turning to glance at him. She felt so-- powerless, scared, unsafe the previous night. But tonight, she feels the very opposite. She hasn’t felt this in control in-- maybe ever. Definitely not for a very long time. 

“Probably,” he says, turning his head to meet her gaze. His body is thrumming with energy that hadn’t been there before. It feels similar to the way he’d felt when he’d been possessed. He feels powerful. Like nothing could stop him. He takes a slow breath. “Are you okay?” 

“I think so,” she whispers, holding his gaze for a long moment. “I feel-- different.”

Stiles gives a short nod. “Me too.” 

She keeps her eyes on him for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “Do you know what happened?”

He licks his lips and faces forward to look out the windshield. He taps the steering wheel with his free hand. “Sorta the same thing that happened back at the cemetery, just uh, a lot stronger.” 

“It feels different, though,” she says quietly, pursing her lips together. “Like-- everything is louder and brighter and more real.”

“Like you’re thrumming with energy?” he asks, voice just as quiet. “Powerful?” 

“Yes,” she whispers, eyes a little wider, a little darker as she stares at him.

“We didn’t get to close out the ritual. All the energy we raised is still in us,” he admits, glancing at her, eyes darting momentarily to her mouth and then quickly to the windshield. 

“Is this going to be an issue?” she asks quietly, feeling something warmer in the pit of her stomach but she can’t quite put her finger on it.

“Probably not?” He considers for a moment, thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles absently. “We have a couple options. We can wait it out or we can try and go somewhere to ground ourselves. Send the energy back, basically.” 

Her grip tightens around his hand and she tenses a little. “I don’t wanna get rid of it,” she says quietly. For the first time in a long time, she feels powerful. Like she could take Jackson if he came to hurt Stiles or Scott. Like she can actually protect herself for a change. She doesn’t want to lose that.

Stiles looks down at their hands, heart beating just a little faster at her words. He doesn’t want to get rid of it either. He meets her eyes, nodding ever so slightly. “Then we wait it out. Together.” 

“Yes,” she agrees, her voice firm as she keeps her eyes on him even as he looks down at their hands.

“Okay,” he says simply. He reluctantly pulls his hand free of hers to start the jeep and shift it into gear, then reaches for her hand once more. 

Lydia shifts on her seat, keeping her eyes on him even as he drives them home. 

“That thing you did back there. That was fucking amazing,” he says after a moment. 

She takes a deep breath and looks at him for a moment, a soft smile appearing on her lips. “I did that once. At Eichen. I screamed myself awake and I was able to make my way out to the patio before they captured me again.”

He turns his head to look at her, surprised. “You never told me that before.” 

“I never told anyone,” she admits quietly but this time, she holds his gaze and doesn’t look away. “I wasn’t sure it was real.” 

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again, reluctantly focusing his attention on the road. “Pretty sure it was.” 

“Yeah, I think it was,” she agrees, smiling a little. “But you-- I don’t even know what you did. You just commanded him to stay.”

“I’m not entirely sure either,” he confesses. He’s pretty sure he caused him pain but he has no idea how except he _wanted_ Jackson to be in pain right then.

Lydia squeezes his hand gently, then sits up slightly. “Do you think-- we’d have been as strong if we weren’t together?”

“No.” That’s the one thing he feels pretty sure about. “I think we amplified each other’s abilities back there.” 

“I think so, too,” she says quietly, looking down at their hands. It doesn’t feel as warm as it did during the ritual but she can still feel their energy flowing between their bodies.

He rubs his thumb over her knuckles softly. “Guess that solidifies my theory.” 

“Your theory?” she asks, a little distracted by the feel of his thumb over her knuckles.

“We’re better together,” he murmurs. 

“Oh,” she says quietly, then nods her agreement but remains silent otherwise. Flashes of the things Allison was showing her crossing her mind and causing her stomach to tighten instantly. She’s not ready to think about that, whatever it means.

“We make a good team.” They always have, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. 

“We do,” she whispers, tightening her grip on his hand. “I guess we always have.”

Stiles’ face registers surprise and he glances at her. “I’ve always thought so.” 

Her face softens despite the tightness in her stomach. She lifts her head to look over at him and smiles. “You’ve always been good at noticing things no one else could see, Stiles.”

And people, he adds silently. He smiles a little, ducking his head before focusing on driving once more. He’s pretty sure his cheeks are a little redder than usual at the compliment. 

Lydia smiles when she sees him smiling, but remains quiet the rest of the drive back home. Once they get there, she’s still feeling the energy pulsing around her, within her, but she’s feeling a lot calmer. She knows that even if Jackson shows up at their door again, he won’t be able to hurt anyone. 

She glances at Stiles then reluctantly lets go of his hand before she climbs out of the jeep.

He does the same, rounding the front of it and heading for the porch, pulling out his key to the duplex and unlocking their front door. He holds it open for her, meeting her eyes momentarily and following her inside. “I feel like I could run ten miles and not be winded.” 

“I know,” she agrees quietly, holding his gaze then making her way further into the house. “But not-- in an anxiety/adrenaline way. It’s not nervous energy.”

“It is a little bit for me,” he admits. “But that’s probably because I’m always full of nervous energy.” He shrugs out of his jacket, laying it on the back of a kitchen chair. 

Lydia smiles softly at that, because she can’t help but remember watching him run around the lacrosse field in high school. “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

Stiles shakes his head at that. “Walking isn’t going to do much at this point.”

“Okay,” she agrees quietly. “We can talk for a while. I’m not really ready to go to sleep just yet.”

“Me either.” And frankly he’s pretty sure he isn’t _going_ to be sleeping tonight at all. “Want something to drink?” 

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly, reaching down and unzipping her boots before taking them off and setting them down by the kitchen door.

His eyes track her every movement and he takes a deep breath before turning to head for the fridge to grab the tea. 

She’s quite a few inches shorter as she reaches for a couple of glasses and sets them down on the table. And although she can’t see him, she can feel him looking at her. It makes the energy she’s feeling stronger somehow.

He moves to the table with the pitcher, but his eyes are still on her. He pours both of them a glass of the tea before moving to put the pitcher back away once more. “Should we call Scott?” he asks, mostly to try and distract himself by how hyper aware he is of every move she’s making. 

“To warn him about Jackson, you mean?” she asks, eyes on him as he walks away from her again. She turns and leans her hips against the side of the table as she picks up her glass.

“And to tell him what we did.” He licks his lips as he turns and grabs his own glass off the table.

“I think that can wait until tomorrow,” she says, glancing down at his lips then holding his gaze again. “Must be past one in the morning at this point.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He holds his breath as their gazes lock. 

She sips on her tea, eyes still on his, then lowers her glass slowly. “Do you wanna go upstairs?

Even though he just took a drink, he feels his mouth go dry at the question. He _knows_ she’s not asking what his mind immediately jumped to, because this is Lydia and he is Stiles and they are friends. It’s all they’ve ever been. Sometimes they’d been lucky to be that much. “Yeah, okay.” His voice sounds more casual than he feels, and he’s glad for it.

Lydia isn’t sure what she means by that herself. She’s not stupid, she knows how it sounds. The truth is, she wants to be closer to him. Standing here a couple of feet away from each other is making her want to reach out and touch him. Which she knows she could do, take his hand again. It’s something that has been normal between them since high school. But-- it’s not quite what she wants. 

She finishes her tea, then sets the glass down in the sink before turning to look at him again and starting toward the stairs.

He has no idea what she’s thinking at the moment, but he doesn’t question it either. He sets his own glass down and follows her wordlessly, unable to stop himself from admiring the view. 

She takes a deep breath as she reaches the top of the stairs, then glances back at him before starting toward her bedroom. Her heart is suddenly beating faster but she’s not allowing herself to think about much at all.

Stiles worries his lower lip between his teeth as she leads him into her room. He watches her carefully, his own heart beating more quickly than usual. 

Lydia shrugs her coat off and hangs it in the coat hanger in the corner of her room. Part of her is trying to find something to say to him, most of her knows it’s pointless. She can feel the way he’s looking at her. And it’s almost like she can feel the energy shifting between them.

When she says nothing, he forces himself to take a deep breath, eyes darker than usual. “I should go to my room.” 

She knows that this is it. That she should just nod and tell him goodnight. But the idea of him walking away now makes her chest tighten with something she’s not sure she’s felt before. She remembers Allison’s words and turns to face him. “You can stay, if you want.”

Stiles swallows hard, meeting her eyes once more and taking a few steps toward her. There’s still a few feet between them when he pauses. “If I do that, I’m afraid of what’s going to happen.” 

There are, until she steps forward too, but pauses before she gets too close. “What do you think is gonna happen?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, searching her eyes and trying to figure out what she’s thinking. “But I think it’ll change things if I stay.” 

“Things are already different, Stiles,” she says quietly, holding his gaze. And it doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare her, or that she’s thinking straight. But it’s clear they’re both thinking it.

His fingers are itching to touch her and he knows she’d let him, but he’s also worried that later she’ll resent him. Hate him. And she’s spent so much time doing those things already. “I know,” he murmurs. “But they’ll be _really_ different if we cross a line here.” 

“Maybe,” she mutters quietly. Because she won’t push him just because of how she’s feeling now. She takes a half step back. She’s not so sure things aren’t already different with just what is being unsaid right now.

The tiny backwards step she takes signals to him that he’s right and he tries not to let the sting of rejection get to him. He takes a step back, too, drawing in a shaky breath. “I think I’m gonna go for a run. Will you be okay here for a little bit?” 

“I’ll be fine,” she says, her tone already different, more distant. Because the rejection is more than stinging a little. It hurts.

“Okay.” He turns away from her, closing his eyes for a moment and reluctantly moving toward her bedroom door. 

Her eyes tear up slightly but she clenches her jaw to try and keep her emotions from overflowing. But she feels like all the power, all the confidence she had moments ago drained from her all at once.

He pauses in the doorframe, leaning his head against it for a second. “I really don’t wanna go for a run. For the record.” His voice is quiet and he doesn’t turn to look at her. 

“Do whatever you want,” she says just as quietly, looking down and not at him anymore as she wraps her arms around herself.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he murmurs, heading down to his own room. 

She steps forward and pauses by the door, glancing down the hallway at him for just a second before taking a step back into her own room and quietly pushing the door shut.

 

***

Scott waits to go see her until he knows that Stiles is at work. He actually has the day off, which he’s grateful for, because he’s been working a lot of hours, and while he loves his new job, there are other things he needs to make sure are taken care of. Stiles had filled him in somewhat briefly about yet another confrontation with Jackson, and the worry that settles into his chest is deep. He’s not doing his job as an alpha or a friend if he doesn’t step up and start addressing the things concerning him. 

He knocks quietly on the front door and waits. He knows she’s home, because her car is in the driveway and he can hear her moving around the duplex -- in the kitchen from the sounds of it. Clinking dishes and running water. 

Physically, Lydia is cleaning up the kitchen. She spent all of her day looking for a job. And while things between her and Stiles are-- weird yet again, she’s been keeping most of her search in Northern California. Even if she does move out of the house and out of Beacon Hills, she doesn’t want to stay away from him, Scott and Kira anymore. Not after everything she’s been through since she got back home. And not with how supportive they’d been through all of it. She knows that running away somewhere new won’t do her any good. 

She doesn’t hear the knock at first, but she when it happens again a moment later. Her heart starts racing and she gently sets down the plate she’d been washing and reaches out for a knife as she moves toward the front door. Logically she knows a knife won’t do her good if it’s Jackson but she’s fairly sure her screaming won’t either without Stiles around.

Scott hears her footsteps approaching and scratches the back of his neck. “Lydia? It’s just me,” he says, waiting.

Lydia lets out a breath and lowers the knife, unlocking the door and opening it a moment later. “Hey.”

Scott glances at the knife in her hand, worried frown forming on his face though he doesn’t say anything. “Hey. Are you busy?” he asks, stepping inside. 

“No, just-- doing some dishes,” she says, waving the knife a little as she starts back toward the kitchen. “Come in.”

He nods, closing the door behind them and following her into the kitchen. “Need any help?” he offers. “I’m sure Stiles has told you a lot of stories about me being dangerous in the kitchen but to be fair, that was mostly when I was under twelve. I promise I’m not that bad anymore.” 

“I’m mostly done, thank you,” she says, motioning to the table as she heads back to the sink and sets the the knife back down. “Stiles is at work.”

“I know,” he admits, leaning against the counter. 

Lydia arches her eyebrows a little. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure. Whatever you guys have is fine,” he tells her with a small smile. 

She nods, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a pitcher of iced tea then pouring a glass and holding it out to him. She doesn’t love the way he’s looking at her and she can only guess Stiles told him about things not being great between them again. But she won’t bring it up if he doesn’t.

“How are things going?” he asks after a moment, sipping the tea. 

Lydia takes her time returning the tea to the fridge before she takes a deep breath and faces Scott again. “If you have something specific you wanna ask me, just ask, Scott.”

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he says earnestly. “We never really talked after...a couple weeks ago.” 

She sighs softly in response and pulls a chair to seat down. “If you’re worried I’m just gonna try to vanish again because of how things are, that’s not my plan.”

He watches her for a moment and then moves to sit down across from her. “I’m just worried in general,” he tells her quietly.

“What do you mean, Scott?” she asks quietly because this is Scott and as much as she doesn’t want to discuss whatever he’s worried about, she knows he means well.

“About you,” he admits, expression open as he gazes at her. “I just want to make sure that you’re really _okay_.” 

“I’m fine,” she answers with a shrug. “I’m-- looking for another job, I’ll figure things out.”

“I meant...okay after all the stuff with Jackson.” His voice grows even softer. 

Lydia lets out a breath and looks away. “I don’t feel bad about what Stiles and I did to him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean? What did you guys do to him?” 

“About-- using our powers on him, at the Argent’s,” she says, looking back up and pausing when she sees the confusion on Scott’s face. “He didn’t tell you?”

He stares at her. “ _Our_ powers?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Lydia whispers. Scott should know about this. And the fact that Stiles hasn’t told him worries her about what really might be going on even more.

“Stiles has some kind of powers?” He leans forward, wide-eyed. “Did someone -- was he bitten?” 

“He’s not a werewolf,” she assures him, taking a deep breath. “But I’ve apparently said too much as is, you really should ask him about it, Scott.”

Scott opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, still looking a little shell-shocked by the news. “But he’s all right?” 

“As far as I know, he is,” she says quietly, looking at Scott. They haven’t been talking a lot in the past couple of days. But for her part, all of the things she was feeling that night are gone. Well, most of the things.

He rubs a hand over his face. “Why is he keeping this from me?” he murmurs.

“It’s recent,” she assures him. “What happened the other night has something to do with us being together.”

“The ritual,” he says after a moment. 

“Yeah, during the ritual we were doing for Allison,” she confirms.

“You -- _what?_ ” Scott stands up, raking a hand through his hair.

That throws her even more, her eyes widening. “He didn’t tell you about that either? He wanted to call you right after until I reminded him it was two in the morning.” 

He forces himself to take a deep breath. “Lydia, what ritual did you guys do for Allison? What’s going on?” 

She lets out a breath and leans back against her chair, explaining to him about things they’d been feeling since the cemetery, the things he knows they felt at the house after and eventually telling him about the night of the full moon. She doesn’t give details, but she does tell him up until the part of Allison calling them _idiots_. 

“And then we both felt her presence really strongly, she was there with us until-- Jackson showed up and tried to attack us both. But we stopped him, with our powers.”

By the time she’s finished, Scott is just staring at her. “I don’t even know what to say,” he murmurs. 

“I know it’s a lot,” she says quietly, then reaches and covers his hand with her own. “I’m sorry I just threw it at you like that, I thought you knew.”

He rubs a hand over his face again and nods. “I’m sure he has his reasons for not telling me.” He presses his lips together.

“We had-- a misunderstanding after. Might have slipped his mind,” she adds quietly, shrugging a shoulder.

Scott’s silent for a few minutes. Then, “We need to start functioning as a pack again,” he says softly, dropping his gaze to the table. “I guess I kind of got overly excited when you guys came back and assumed it would just -- go back to the way it used to be.” 

“That’d be nice,” she says quietly. It’s what she’s been searching for since she came back but she’s pretty sure they’ll never be back to normal at this point. “But I think we’ve all changed too much.”

“To be a pack?” he asks, watching her closely.

“To go back to the way things used to be,” she says. She doesn’t know if that includes being a pack or not. She hopes it doesn’t.

He exhales, troubled expression on his face. “Lydia, does Stiles know? About Jackson?” His voice is hushed. 

“Which part?” she asks, but the look on his face is enough to make her stomach tighten because it reminds her of the way he looked at her on the stairs that night.

“What he did.” He doesn’t know the extent of what happened to her, but he knows enough to be worried. 

“He did a lot of things, Scott,” she says with a shrug as she looks away. “Stiles knows he’s an asshole. He was at the restaurant with me, remember? That’s all he needs to know.”

“Lydia...when has any of us keeping secrets from each other ever turned out to be a good thing?” he asks quietly before rising to his feet. “Just think about it.” 

“It’s not a secret, Scott.” Her jaw clenches a little as she looks at him. “I doubt I know everything that happened to you, or Kira in the last five years. I sure as hell don’t know half of what happened to Stiles.”

“And look how all of that’s going,” he says meaningfully. He draws in a breath. “Look, just...I’m here for you if you want to talk about it. Or anything else. But if you don’t want to talk to me, talk to Kira or Stiles, or my mom or the sheriff. Or someone that you trust. Things like this, Lydia...they have a way of eating you up inside.” 

“I’m talking to the only person who can actually do anything about this, Scott: a lawyer,” she says, looking away again. It’s bad enough what people already know about the mess her life became after she moved to LA. She doesn’t want anyone else walking on eggshells because of her.

His eyes are sad when he looks at her. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll get out of your hair.” He turns to head for the door.

She lets out a breath and watches him go silently. He should be talking to Stiles, anyway. Not her.

***

Stiles isn’t particularly thrilled about it when his dad asks him if he can cover the main and emergency line overnight, but it’s a chance at doing something other than filing and organizing things, so he jumps on it. He sends Lydia a message to let her know where he’ll be and if she needs anything, not to hesitate to call or come by. He doubts either will happen, considering how strained things have been between them since Saturday night. 

He sighs and leans back in his chair, reading over the copy of the cold case file he’d found the week before. He’s still convinced the death was the work of fairies, but he hasn’t had time to do any real digging into it. Yet. 

The sound of the door opening makes him swivel his head toward it and he perks up and sits forward when he sees Scott. “Hey. What are you doing here?” It’s not unusual for Stiles to bug Scott while the other man is at work, but it’s a little unusual for it to happen in reverse unless something’s wrong. Oh god. Something’s probably wrong. “What happened?” 

“I’m not sure,” Scott answers, making his way to Stiles’ desk. “Are you busy?”

“Not really, no. What’s going on?” He rises to his feet, worried expression on his face. 

“I went to see Lydia,” Scott says, sitting down on the chair opposite from Stiles’ even as he stands up.   
“Okay…” He arches his eyebrows. That isn’t exactly a newsflash, so he waits. 

Scott sighs softly. “Do you have anything you wanna tell me, Stiles?”

At that, he grows still. He’s being accused of something, and the first thing that comes to mind is how close he and Lydia had been to crossing a line two nights ago that they’d never be able to _uncross_. Surely Lydia wouldn’t have told Scott about that, right? But there’s disappointment on Scott’s face and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Look, we didn’t actually go through with it, okay? I mean, we didn’t even kiss.” 

Apparently no one is telling him anything. Scott stares up at Stiles, his eyes a little wide. “What?”

Of _course_ that isn’t what Scott’s talking about. “Uh.” He stares back at Scott, not sure of how to rectify the damage he just did. “That’s...not even close to what you’re talking about, is it?” 

“What do you mean you didn’t even kiss, Stiles? Go through with what?” he asks, sitting up. 

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “We just got kind of close the other night.” 

“Romantically close?” Scott asks, alarmed. 

“Yes and no?” He grimaces and sits back down in his chair. “I mean nothing _actually_ happened. There was just...definite tension.” 

“Stiles. You can’t _do_ that,” Scott says, worry clear on his face.

“It’s not like I planned for it to happen!” he says defensively. “It just...happened.” 

“It’s not just going to hurt _you_ ,” Scott points out, hesitating. He doesn’t want to say too much but he’s not sure his best friend understands how dangerous it could be for Lydia to get involved with anyone else before she works through whatever Jackson did to her.

“Scott, I _know_ that, okay? I’m the one who backed off in the first place.” He lays his head back against the chair and shuts his eyes. “And she’s barely talked to me since then.” 

“Lydia was coming on to you?” Scott asks, even more confused at this point.

“No it was definitely mutual but I’m the one who put the brakes on things. I know she’s not ready for something like that and I know I’m not the one she wants when she is so.” He lets out a breath.

He sighs softly in relief when he realizes that maybe Stiles gets it more than he thought. Part of him does wish things could work out between the two of them, but he doesn’t want to get Stiles’ hopes up. “Okay. Good.” 

He presses his lips together and rolls his head to look at Scott. “Okay so obviously this is all new information and you came to talk about something else. So...what’s up?” 

Scott looks up at Stiles again. “The--” he isn’t even sure how to say this. “You have _powers_?”

Stiles winces. “Remember awhile back when I told you there was something I needed to talk to you about, but the timing kept being...not great?” 

“Something this big, you make time, Stiles.” 

“It’s uh, actually a little bigger than me having powers,” he says after a moment, not quite looking at him. He shifts in his chair. 

“I’m not going to guess anymore,” Scott says, arching his eyebrows.

“Before I left Beacon Hills, I talked to Deaton. He uh -- kinda gave me some direction about people I needed to get in touch with while I was in D.C.,” he says carefully, twisting his fingers together. “A pack that he knows.” 

“You’re in another _pack_?” Scott asks, hurt immediately on his face.

“Oh my god. _No._ Definitely not.” He sits up all the way and faces Scott. “I was training with their emissary.” 

“Training?” Scott asks, a little relieved. “For what?”

He chews his thumbnail as he gazes at his best friend. “To _be_ an emissary,” he says quietly. 

“...Oh.” 

He tries to ignore the disappointment he feels at Scott’s lack of reaction. He gets it though. Scott’s bound to have plenty of reservations given his history. He picks up the file folder he’d been looking at and opens it once more. “So that’s where the powers thing comes from,” he adds casually. 

“So you _are_ an emissary now?” Scott asks, because he’s not quite there yet.

“Not officially, no.” He chews his nail as his eyes scan over the photographs in the file folder.

“Stiles, I don’t get it,” Scott says sincerely when he doesn’t go on.

“ _Your_ emissary, Scott. Uh, in theory.” 

Scott’s face brightens a little. “Really?”

“I mean, that was the plan,” he says cautiously, glancing over at him and holding his breath. “If you think you need one.” His heart tightens a little.

“Of course I need one, Stiles.” Scott shakes his head, sitting up. “I need you in the pack.” Doesn’t matter to him as what.

The relief is obvious on his face and he drops the folder onto the desk. “Oh thank God.” 

“Did you seriously think I’d say no?” Scott asks, both surprised and a little amused.

He doesn’t smile, just looks at Scott warily. “I thought you might be a little freaked out, actually.” 

“Why?” He asks, frowning a little.

“Because the last time I had powers beyond wielding a baseball bat, things didn’t turn out so great,” he confesses, dropping his gaze to the floor. 

“Lydia told me that your powers activated when you guys were together, I don’t think that sounds like a bad thing,” Scott says sincerely. “Especially if they worked to protect both of you from Jackson.”

He presses his lips together, nodding. “We seem to amplify one another’s abilities,” he agrees. “At least that’s my working theory.” 

“You don’t think it has anything to do with the-- bathtub ritual, right?” he asks, this time more carefully.

Stiles holds his breath, then nods again. “I do, actually, yes. I think that’s where it started.” 

“Oh,” Scott mutters, his face falling. “Why?”

“Because she was my link back to the world,” he says quietly. “Sorta forged a bond between us.” Whether they’d realized it at the time or not. Whether it was _wanted_ by both of them or not. 

“But it has nothing to do with the Nemeton, right?” Scott asks, hopeful.

“You mean the powers part?” He draws in a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Lydia already had powers before the Nemeton came into play and the first time I used mine was before then too.” 

“You did?” Scott says. “You knew you were an Emissary back then?”

“No. But Deaton knew I had the potential. Remember when he had me do that mountain ash thing to keep Jackson from escaping the club?” 

“Oh.” Scott nods slightly. “Yeah, I remember you being able to trap him.”

“That was how he was testing me to see if I had the spark.” 

“Ooh,” Scott mutters quietly, nodding a little. “That’s-- good, right? That you both had your powers before anything happened.”

“I think so, yeah. I think the ritual just made us stronger together.” He sighs and looks at him.

“What?” Scott asks when Stiles sighs like that.

“It may not be a good thing.” 

“Why?” And he’s back to worried.

“Because about every other day she hates my guts?” he replies wryly. 

Scott sighs softly at that and shakes his head. “Lydia doesn’t hate you, Stiles.”

“Not every day, no.” He leans his elbow on the desk. 

“I don’t think she’s very happy with herself,” Scott points out, looking down. At least that’s what he’s trying to tell himself since he left the house.

“I know. But I don’t think being around me is helping as much as I kinda hoped it would.” He’d just been hoping so much that he could help her reconcile the past, but maybe the truth is they just have too much history and too much of it isn’t good. 

“I think the two of you need to talk,” Scott says sincerely. “ _Really_ talk.” Because what he picks up from both of them when they talk about each other is a very deep sadness. 

Stiles draws in a breath. “We’d made some plans but I kinda figure they’re off the table at this point.” He draws a circle on the desk with his finger. 

“What plans?” 

“To go get the rest of my stuff from DC,” he says with a shrug. “We were waiting til summer school was done so she had time. I was gonna show her around.” 

“You should go,” Scott encourages. He’s a little hesitant but if it will get them to talk, it might actually make things better between them. “Ask her if she’s still interested, Stiles. She was already talking about looking for a new job, I think this is her last week at the school.”

“It is,” he confirms. He’s marked it down on his calendar. He’s worried that she’s going to end up finding a job nowhere near Beacon Hills and end up leaving again, but he’s also afraid to voice it out loud. 

“Talk to her, Stiles. Maybe some time away to get used to being around each other will help,” he offers. He knows they’ve all changed a lot, like Lydia said. But he also knows he wasn’t imagining how happy they all looked the other night when they were playing games and baking cookies together.

“I’ll ask her,” He says, but he doesn’t have very high hopes or expectations about it. He half expects her to tell him she’s moving out in the next week or two. 

“Do it tonight-- tomorrow morning, I guess,” Scott says, arching his eyebrows.

Stiles arches his eyebrows too. “That bad?” he mutters.

“I just think it’ll be good for both of you,” he says sincerely. “And I don’t want you to overthink it and decide against saying something.”

“Me? Overthink something when it comes to Lydia? Surely you jest.” He smiles faintly and picks up the file and hands it to Scott. 

Scott smiles at him a little, then arches his eyebrows and takes the file. “What’s this?”

“A cold case I came across here. Pretty sure it was fairies.” 

Scott gives him a look, sets the folder back down. “I’m gonna go get us some burgers, you can tell me about fairies later, but I’m not about to read that.”

“For real. I’m not making this up, man!” 

“I’ll get you curly fries,” he adds as he gets up and starts toward the door.

Stiles narrows his eyes before picking up a wadded piece of paper and heaving it at his friend’s head.


	10. Chapter 10

Lydia barely got any sleep at all. The conversation with Scott hadn’t been great and having to sleep alone in the house, despite the mountain ash she’d used both downstairs and in her bedroom hadn’t helped. So she’s actually pretty early for school when she finally gets ready. Stiles’ bedroom door is still open, she can tell from the window that the jeep isn’t outside, so she knows she’s still alone. 

With a soft sigh she grabs her purse and her shoes and makes her way downstairs. She sets them down on the couch and heads for the kitchen. She’s not particularly hungry but she definitely needs coffee, so she starts the coffee maker and mindlessly reads through her emails as she waits.

Stiles carefully steps over the line of mountain ash as he makes his way into the duplex, somewhere between exhausted and wired. He’d drank a lot of coffee during his night shift, but he also feels like he could faceplant and sleep for a week. He rubs a hand over his face, yawning as he makes his way toward the kitchen, shrugging out of his jacket and looking over to where Lydia’s standing at the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. “Morning.” 

She’s surprised to see him at home already, but she’s also relieved to have the confirmation he’s okay before she needs to head to work. When she hears him coming in, she half expects him to head straight upstairs, but when he comes into the kitchen, she straightens a little. “Morning.”

He gives her a small smile before stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “How was your night?” 

“Okay,” she lies quietly. Because he doesn’t need to know she barely slept because she didn’t feel safe there without him. “How was work?”

“It was...long. And kinda lonely after Scott left,” he admits quietly. 

“Did you not have things to investigate?” she asks, frowning a little, surprised he’s telling her it was lonely.

“No, Dad just needed me to answer the emergency line cause the night shift deputy, Collins, was out sick. It never rang.” He shrugs.

“That’s a good thing though, right?” she asks, cocking her head. “No one was in danger.”

“Yeah, it’s good,” he assures her. But being alone in the station at night was more eerie and uncomfortable than he’d anticipated. It made him think of Matt Daehler and Jackson when he’d been in full kanima killing-spree mode. Every time he heard a noise he half expected to look up and see the latter ready to pounce and kill him. 

“I’m glad you were safe,” she admits, smile a little at him before turning to the coffee maker and filling her travel mug.

He watches her as she gets ready. “Lyds?” His voice is soft. 

Lydia is very glad she has her back to him because her heart skips a beat at the nickname. She pauses for a moment, then cocks her head and glances over her shoulder. “Yeah?” she has no idea what to expect. Or what’s happening. Or what has happened and he’s about to tell her.

“When you get back this afternoon, can we talk?” 

She turns to face him, frowning a little. “Is something wrong?”

No,” he assures her. “I just kinda...wanted to see if you still wanted to go with me to DC soon.”

“Oh.” She stares blankly at him for a moment, despite the fact that her stomach suddenly feels very tight. “I-- you, still wanna go?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you do. I still need to get the rest of my stuff and...I don’t know, I think it’d be good for us to get outta Beacon Hills for awhile.” He licks his lips nervously.

When he licks his lips, she looks down at her mug and takes a deep breath. “I have work until Friday.”

“That’s fine,” he assures her, resting his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. “I need to request time off anyway and I don’t want to not give a little bit of notice first.” 

Lydia looks up and glances at the way his arm muscles are flexing, then she looks up at his face. “Are you sure you want me to come, Stiles?”

His expression is soft as he gazes back at her. “I really do, yeah.” 

She looks at him for a long moment, not sure what to do with the sincerity there. So she just nods. “Okay. Let me know when you wanna leave.”

“Okay. We could maybe make some plans over dinner? I’ll cook,” he offers. 

“Okay,” she agrees quietly. “Let me know if you need me to pick up anything on the way home,” she offers.

Stiles nods, meeting her gaze. “Want me to drive with you to work?” On the off chance that Jackson might be lurking and waiting for her.

“It’s okay, you should rest.” And she needs time to process whatever it is that’s happening before she gets there, anyway. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda punch drunk,” he admits, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Right.” That certainly does make more sense. “I need to get to school, so…”

“Okay. Have a good day, Lyds.” He smiles softly. 

She purses her lips into a slight smile, nods and heads out of the kitchen for her purse and shoes. She doesn’t expect him to have any memory of this conversation by the time he actually gets up, so as far as her expectation goes, she’ll pretend it never happened.

***

Stiles manages to get about four hours of sleep before he gets up and goes to the grocery store to get what he needs for tonight’s dinner, and then he spends the next four hours preparing it. He’s wound up because of the pot of coffee he drank when he got back home, and there’s another brewing by the time he hears the front door open, signaling Lydia’s return. 

He slides dessert in the oven as he hears her heels clicking against the floor and turns to greet her. “Welcome back.” 

Every time she thought about her conversation with Stiles from this morning during the day, she shut her brain up quickly. She did her best not to focus on it at all, so when she walks into the house and it actually smells like food-- mostly garlic, she’s more than a little surprised. 

She barely has time to set her purse down before he greets her and her stomach does a weird flip. “Thanks.”

“Please tell me you’re hungry,” he jokes, stirring the spaghetti noodles in the pot on the stove. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly, glancing at the stove. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, Stiles.”

“I like to cook,” he reminds her with a grin. “And I hadn’t really had a chance to show off my skills yet so.” 

Lydia nods slightly as she approaches him. “What are you making?”

“Spaghetti with zucchini noodles.” He glances at her. “I know you really liked Melissa’s lasagna with zucchini so I thought I’d give it a shot.” He shifts to the side and stirs the pan of sauce. 

“It smells really good,” she admits, looking at him for a moment, then making her way to the cupboard so she can start setting the table.

“Thanks.” He’s made the sauce from scratch, too. He glances at her as she starts setting the table. “How was your day?” 

“It was good,” she says sincerely. “Tomorrow is the last day with the kids so, they spent a lot of time asking questions.”

Stiles nods. “That’s good. You think you want to keep doing the teaching thing?” he asks, watching her. 

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly, shrugging a shoulder. “There’s no word from the school about whether or not they have a full time position for me and-- it’d mean working with my mother.”

He’s able to keep himself from grimacing at that. “Fair enough,” he says easily. 

She glances at him, then focuses on setting the plates and silverware down on the table. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

“Yeah, some,” he says vaguely. 

“Do you work again tonight?” she asks quietly, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“Nope, Collins is back tonight so Dad doesn’t need me. Which is good. I’m going on a limb and saying I’m not a fan of the Midnight shift.” Which is kind of ironic considering how often he’d stayed up all night in high school and college, researching, running for his life, and studying. Not necessarily in that order.

“That’s good,” she says, breathing silently a sigh of relief. She wants to be able to get some rest tonight and she knows she wouldn’t if he wasn’t home.

Stiles glances over at her and smiles a little. “Agreed. Also, sleeping during the day is way harder than it was when I was sixteen.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees, smiling a little.

“I’m glad you had a good day.” He reaches out and squeezes her arm. 

Lydia stills at the touch, a little surprised by it, but nods slightly. “You too.” It’s about all she can manage to say. “Do you hm, still have a lot of prepping to do?”

“No, just gotta add the sauce to the spaghetti and let it heat up a little more. Dessert’s baking in the oven. And no, it’s not chocolate chip cookies.” 

She smiles a little at that and takes a deep breath. “What is it?”

“Mississippi mud,” he tells her. 

“What?” she asks, cocking her head.

Stiles’ eyes widen and he turns his head to look at her. “You’ve never had Mississippi mud before?” 

“Not, by that name at least, no?” she says, arching her eyebrows. “It smells like-- chocolate?”

“So much chocolate,” he confirms. “Brownies with marshmallow creme and chocolate icing. It’s amazing.” 

“Pretty sure I’ve never had that combination before,” she admits it, arching her eyebrows. “Sounds amazing.”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it.” He slowly starts to stir the sauce into the noodles. 

Lydia nods her agreement, then watches him quietly for a moment. She knows he’s making a pretty big effort to do all of this for her, and the last thing she wants is to sound ungrateful but she’s also not sure what changed from when he left for work yesterday to when he got back this morning, and it’s making her a little anxious. “Did you-- and Scott hang out a lot last night?”

“A couple hours. He had to get home to sleep like a normal werewolf cause of work this morning. He brought me food but refused to talk about the idea of fairies in the woods killing people.” He rolls his eyes. “Because that’s such a stretch after everything we’ve lived through.” 

She smiles a little at that and shakes her head, deciding to ignore the topic of fairies for the time being. “I’m sorry if I said too much to him when he came by, I figured you two had talked.”

Everyone wants to ignore the idea of fairies. He can’t blame them -- they’re nasty little creatures. “It’s okay,” he assures her. “I just kept putting it off because I thought he might be freaked out but...I think I was the one who was freaked out.” Which is pretty typical for him.

“About-- your powers?” she asks, her voice quieter than before as she busies herself with pulling the tea from the fridge and setting it on the table.

“And the whole emissary thing in general,” he confesses. 

“Why?” she asks, this time glancing at him.

He chews his lower lip as he stirs the spaghetti. “For one, it’s a lot of responsibility.” 

“Isn’t your main responsibility to be the pack’s supernatural encyclopedia?” she asks. And yes, she knows that’s a very simplified way of putting it, but it doesn’t make it not true.

“And to be Scott’s advisor.” Which he’s basically been since he and Scott were five, but it’s still different. “And Deaton’s -- I’m not like him. He stays pretty out of the fray for the most part and he’s a lot more about the balance and all of that.” All Stiles cares about is keeping the people he loves _alive_ and he knows himself well enough to know that he’ll do that however he has to, balance be _damned._

“Stiles… that’s just his personality. The things he did as an actual emissary for the pack you’ve been doing since we were teenagers,” she says sincerely, cocking her head. She’s surprised he doesn’t see that.

“Maybe,” he says doubtfully, glancing at her. “It’s the power part that scares me more.” He hesitates. “I’ve been -- dreaming about the Nemeton.” 

Her face actually falls at that, growing more serious. “What about it?”

He didn’t mean to cause the mood to get so serious, but he probably should have seen it coming. That damn tree has been the root of all their problems since they were in high school. “Mostly I’m just sitting on top of it. Like meditating?” He exhales. “I don’t know if it’s trying to tell me something or what.” 

“Do you feel-- scared or bad in any way in your dream?” Because meditation doesn’t sound bad. Or like possession.

He considers that. “Only in the way that the Nemeton creeps me out in general?” 

“But-- even in your dream it creeps you out?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “But I’m never tempted to move away from it in my dream either. I don’t know what that says about my psyche, actually.” He frowns.

Lydia purses her lips together and hesitates for a moment. “Have you been there? Since you got back?”

Stiles hesitates, too. “When I first got back. But not since then.” 

“What did it feel like when you actually went?” she asks quietly.  
“Mildly terrifying and kinda fascinating at the same time?” Which really kind of describes his entire life since sophomore year. 

She’s still not sure what to make of all this, so she sighs softly as she thinks about it. “Did you tell Deaton?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “Not so much. “ 

“Why not?” she asks with a slight frown.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t. Didn’t seem unusual given my history with it, I guess.” 

“I don’t think dreaming about the Nemeton is something you should just shrug off, Stiles,” she adds quietly. Especially with everything that’s been happening to them. And Allison.

He looks down at his hands. “I’ll go see him tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” she agrees with a soft sigh of relief.

Stiles stirs the spaghetti one last time before turning the burner to the lowest setting. “I think we’re ready to eat if you’re hungry.” 

“I’m hungry,” she assures him, glancing at the table. Less so now, but she’ll manage to eat. “Do we need anything else?”

“Nah, just gotta grab the bread and the salad,” he assures her, squeezing her shoulder as he moves past her toward the fridge. 

Lydia stills completely for just a second. But she doesn’t want him to notice it so she quickly makes her way to her usual chair and sits down.

He carries the garlic bread and the chef salad back to the table and sits down across from her. “So I was thinking, maybe we could head out in a week. I think that’s enough advance notice for my dad to get things covered when I’m gone.” 

Her eyes widen a little at how casually he brings it up yet again. She opens and closes her mouth, then nods slightly. “Right. And-- you’re still sure about this?”

He blinks a couple times and looks over at her. “Yeah?” Now there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Are you...not?” 

“No,” she starts, then shakes her head. “I meant-- you were half asleep when we were talking this morning. I wasn’t even sure you’d remember our conversation,” she says sincerely.

“ _Oh._ ” He relaxes at the explanation. “No, I definitely remember it. I was in that weird place between exhaustion and hyperness from all the coffee I drank between Midnight and three but I definitely remember it.” 

Lydia offers him a small smile, then reaches to plate the salad for both of them. “A week works for me.”

He smiles back at her, eyes a little brighter now. “Cool. I can’t wait to show you around D.C. You’ve never been, right?” 

“Never been to the East Coast,” she admits, smiling a little more.

He nods. “I was thinking we could rent a car. No way Rosco could make that drive and I don’t want to put wear and tear on your car with a cross-country trip.” 

“We can drive mine, that’s not a problem but-- I don’t know how much we’d be able to fit in it?” she asks.

“Yeah I’m not sure it’ll be big enough. I don’t have a lot, but your car’s on the small side.” He stuffs a bite of salad in his mouth. 

“We’ll rent something,” she agrees a moment later. Because suddenly it occurs to her how easily Jackson could track her down in her own car.

He smiles again and spears another bite of salad. “You glad this is your last week?” 

“Yeah,” she admits, sipping on her tea. “I like teaching, and dealing with the kids is definitely challenging but-- I don’t think it’s the challenge I want right now. Maybe in a few years.”

“Fair enough,” he says thoughtfully. “I’ve been looking for other stuff but nothing is jumping out at me.” He sighs. 

 

“I know the feeling,” she admits, smiling a little at him before taking another bite. “Thanks for cooking, Stiles. Everything I’ve tried so far is really great.”

“I just hope you like the spaghetti.” The noodles had taken forever to make. 

She smiles softly at him, then serves herself some of the pasta. After a moment, she takes a bite and pauses, eyes widening a little. “Don’t tell Melissa. But-- this is better than her lasagna.”

His eyes light up and he sits forward. “Yeah?” 

“The texture is really amazing,” she says sincerely. “And the flavor you got on the sauce is really great.” 

“The sauce was -- my mom’s recipe,” he admits with a small smile, trying it for himself.

“Oh.” Her face softens and she nods a little. “I think she’d be really proud of how it turned out.”

“Thanks,” he tells her quietly. 

She smiles softly at him, holding his gaze for a moment, then nodding as she looks down at her plate again for another bite.

“We should take our time on the way to D.C. Stop and do some sight seeing. Grand Canyon, Rocky Mountains, Mount Rushmore…” He glances over to see her reaction. 

Lydia arches her eyebrows and smiles a little more. “If only MIT wasn’t five hours out of our way.”

Stiles pauses that. “I don’t mind going out of the way for that,” he says honestly. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, surprised. “We’re already driving cross country back and forth.”

“I like driving,” he says with a shrug. “I always wanted to take a road trip after high school and it never happened so I’m down if you are.” 

“I have no reason to rush back so...” she nods a little, smiling at him.

His smile nearly splits his face. “This is going to be _awesome._ ” 

Lydia can’t really help it this time. She smiles back at his enthusiasm and nods. “I’m looking forward to it.”

So is he. 

***

It’s the last day of school. Lydia is definitely looking forward to the road trip but first, she’s looking forward to telling all her students they actually passed the class. As she makes her way out of the house in the morning, she sees the jeep parked behind her car. It makes sense, Stiles got home from the station late last night, so she steps back in to grab his keys and gets into the jeep to move it out of the way. Secretly she feels a little honored that he trusts her to drive it at all. 

Just as she sets it into reverse and presses down on the gas pedal however, she frowns. The jeep refuses to move. She steps down a little harder but still, nothing. Then she hears a deafening sound. Something like nails on a chalkboard but much, much louder. And then, for a moment, she has no idea what’s happening. 

The jeep is suspended into the air. It happens so fast, she doesn’t really have time to move or take cover or curl up into a safer position. Everything turns upside down and she comes crashing down. 

Lydia doesn’t know if she passed out or not. She feels her purse hitting her side hard as her chest hits the steering wheel. And it _hurts_. Before she can even rationalize what she’s doing, or trying to do, she reaches her arms out, grunting and tugging on the grass as she tries to pull herself out of the jeep through the window. She can feel the pain on her chest, on her side, she can feel the wet grass under her palms and her heart beating fast against her chest. But she can’t feel her legs. 

She panics, grunting and shifting as she looks down, or better yet, up. The steering wheel is pressing down against her thighs hard, pressing her against the seat. . And it’s only after concentrating on kicking her legs out a couple of times that she finally feels her feet connecting with the metal of the door. Lydia breathes out a sigh of relief, but she’s still _trapped_. 

“Stil--” she looks at the house, she knows he’s in there. But her voice is nowhere near loud enough for him to hear her. She takes a deep breath and just as she’s about to scream again, she freezes. 

A loud, dangerous growl sounds just above her head. A very distinct chill runs down her spine and as she looks up and meets icy blue eyes staring back down at her, her stomach drops with fear. 

He growls again and she can feel warm tears pooling up in her eyes. “Jackson, please,” she begs quietly. But all he does is hold up his clawed hands in front of her. And then, after one swift movement on his part, she sees them coming back bloody. Her eyes widen and she gasps, but she feels the warm liquid running down her neck, then her chest. 

Lydia opens her mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. And as she lifts her hands to her throat, she feels herself collapsing to the ground, not even noticing the way her body is shaking, or the way her vision is growing dark. 

***

He’s half asleep when he feels the heavy, cold familiar weight of dread settle into his chest. He sits up quickly, wondering if he’d actually been asleep and having a nightmare he can’t remember. He looks around the room, but everything seems to be in place. His eyes find the clock. It’s early -- not quite 7:30 yet, and he rubs a hand over his face. Lydia’s already left for work by now and he’s off for the day. He contemplates going back to sleep when suddenly all of the pictures on his wall fall at once, like someone shook the wall. 

His eyes widen and he rises to his feet instantly, mouth falling open. “Allison?” 

Before he can do anything else, there’s a terrible sound from outside, like metal being crunched and glass breaking. “What the _hell?_ ” He quickly grabs a shirt and tugs it on over his head as he moves toward the stairs and then the front door. He wrenches it open and freezes in his steps. 

There, lying on the ground half in and half out of his jeep, body twisted and in a pool of blood, lay Lydia, still and silent. 

Her name is a scream ripped from his mouth as the world around him goes cold.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles sits in the waiting room of the ER and time seems to stop. He is covered in blood -- _Lydia’s_ blood -- and he can’t hear the other people who are waiting, who are staring at him. His narrow vision is focused intently on a spot on the floor that he’s stared at for so long he’s sure that it’s going to go up in flames any second. 

In his mind’s eye, all he can see is Lydia lying in the driveway, dying. 

“Oh god.” Kira’s voice breaks him out of his oblivion and he looks up at her, takes in her shocked and horrified expression at the sight of him covered in blood and he immediately has to shut his eyes. 

“Stiles?” Scott is right behind her, but he steps up a moment later and places a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “What happened?”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “Lydia,” he chokes out. 

“Is she hurt?” he asks, moving to sit next to Stiles, eyes on his face.

Kira’s eyes are still wide and she feels like she’s rooted to the spot as she waits for Stiles to answer. 

“Yes. The jeep. It was --” He makes a motion with his hands and then closes his eyes. 

“It flipped?” Scott asks, glancing up at Kira, then back. “Were you with her? Are you hurt?”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, moving to sit down on Stiles’ other side. 

He shakes his head. “It’s not my blood.” 

Scott’s eyes widen and he nods a little. “Is my mom here? Did you call your dad?”

His face is pale and he struggles to answer Scott’s question even as he feels the panic threatening to overtake him. “Yes. And no.” He shudders and leans over, resting his head on his knees. 

Kira shoots a worried look at Scott. 

Scott places a hand on Stiles’ back and looks around, wishing his mom was there. Instead, he holds Kira’s gaze for a moment. “I’ll go get you some water, okay? Kira will stay here with you.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, but Kira nods, resting her hand on Stiles’ back in his place. “Go,” she says softly. 

He nods slightly back at her, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder once before starting down the hall. He plans on bringing back some water, but mostly, he’s hoping to find his mom and figure out what’s happening to Lydia.

Melissa emerges from the trauma room, blood all over the front of her scrubs and on her gloves as she strips the latter off and makes her way toward the nurse’s station, not noticing Scott. There’s a grim expression on her face. 

“Mom?” he calls, eyes widen, heart beating fast when he sees the look on her face.

She looks over to him, holding a finger up and picking up the phone. “I need Dr. Geyer down here right _now_ ,” she orders the person on the other end of the line. 

His heart sinks at the words, but he waits. And as he does, he tries his best to listen to what’s going on down the hall but there’s just too much going on.

She hangs up the phone a second later. “Sweetheart, I don’t have much time, I need to get back in there. But it’s not good,” she says honestly. “She’s lost a lot of blood.” 

Scott nods a little. “Is-- can I help?” 

“I don’t think so,” she says, trying for a smile. “But I don’t think Stiles called Noah. Can you call him and tell him he needs to come down here?” Because if Lydia dies, Stiles is going to need his dad. 

His stomach twists into knots but he nods slightly, because he knows his mom is asking him to do that for Stiles’ sake. And he knows it must be really bad if she thinks Stiles will need his dad. “Yeah. I’ll call him.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, turning and heading away. When she’s several feet away, she pauses in her tracks and says quietly, “Her throat was slashed.” 

Scott is just about to turn away when he hears the words. His jaw clenches and anger instantly runs through him. At this point, he knows his mom would know what claw marks look like, and he knows she wouldn’t tell him if she thought it was from the accident. 

He takes a deep breath and reaches for his phone. He’ll call the Sheriff first, but after that, he needs to make another phone call.

***

It’s all dark and cold. There’s a constant beeping sound somewhere in the background, but slowly it fades away until there’s a long beep before it stops completely. Lydia can feel her body shivering, shaking but then that stops too. For a long moment, she just stays there. And although her eyes are closed, she knows she’s surrounded by darkness. There are voices here and there but they’re so far away, she can’t make out the words. 

She knows she’s fading, blending with the darkness around her. Weightless and although it’s not peaceful, it’s really not _anything_. It just-- is. 

“Lydia.” The voice comes from somewhere within the darkness. 

When her name is called, she turns toward it, her entire body turning in that direction, but she keeps her eyes closed. Because she’s tired, _so_ tired. And she just wants to rest.

“ _Lydia._ ” The voice is more insistent this time. “Open your eyes.” 

“Allison?” she whispers quietly. Because hearing her best friend’s voice so clearly, so close to her after such a long time is jarring. But still, her eyes remain closed. “I wanna rest.”

“Well it’s not time for resting, so open your eyes anyway.” Without warning, arms circle her form and hug her tightly. 

Before she has a chance to do anything, she feels Allison’s arms around her. She wraps her arms back around her best friend and when she feels tears in her eyes, she finally opens them. Everything is dark around them, but she can still see Allison. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” she murmurs, pulling away to look at her and cupping her face in her hands. “And you’re not supposed to be.” 

“But if you are…” Lydia whispers quietly, looking at her through her tears. 

“No,” Allison says firmly, gazing at her. “It isn’t your time. Not for a long, long time, Lydia.” 

“I’m tired, Allison,” she says quietly. 

“You’re twenty-four, Lydia. You have a whole life ahead of you, and you have people who need you more than you even know,” she responds, arching her eyebrows.

She immediately see Stiles’ face. Followed by Scott’s and Kira’s. Lydia closes her eyes tightly again and tightens her hands around Allison’s shoulders. “Come with me.”

“I’ve been with you more than you realize,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to Lydia’s cheek. 

Lydia keeps her eyes closed, in the pit of her stomach she’s starting to feel a pull. Down, back. “I miss you,” she whispers, opening her eyes again.  
“I miss you, too. You have to go back now,” she murmurs. “ _Remember._ ” 

Although she’s holding on to Allison’s hand as tightly as she can, she feels it slipping out of her fingers. Allison fades into darkness and as she’s pulled back, she feels like she’s moving so fast, Lydia had no chance to say anything before everything is dark and cold once again. 

***

Stiles paces the floor of the waiting room, not looking at anyone as he moves back and forth over and over. His heart is beating hard and fast in his chest but he’s moved beyond panic attack and into terrifyingly restless and...frankly just terrified territory. He knows that Scott and Kira are watching him worriedly, and his dad had gone to get some coffee and the moment the latter had left, Stiles had started pacing. 

There had been so much blood. He’s still covered in it, even though he did make an attempt to wash up. The other people in the waiting room keep shooting him worried looks, like they think he’s killed someone and the way he’s pacing they probably think he’s about to do it again. 

They’re not far from wrong. His fingers clench and unclench into fists at his sides and his jaw tightens every few moments. He feels it, crawling beneath his skin. The desire to hurt. 

To _kill_. 

Suddenly the light bulbs at the desk a few feet away explode.

“Stiles.” Scott says a moment later, placing a hand on his arm.

He turns, eyes darker than usual. “What?” 

“Take a deep breath, okay?” Scott says worriedly.

“I don’t think that’s going to help very much.” He starts to pace again, chewing his thumbnail as he moves. 

“Stiles.” This time, it’s Melissa’s voice that calls him, she’s pulling off her gloves as she walks further into the waiting room, toward the two boys.

He stops again, this time turning and holding his breath. “How is she?” He searches her face for some kind of clue on what’s happening.

“Stable,” she says, her voice tired as she glances at Scott, then back at Stiles. “She’s lost a lot of blood so we’re monitoring her closely for the next twenty-four hours.”

“But she’s gonna be okay?” His voice cracks. 

Melissa hesitates. “We’re monitoring her.” 

He knows what that means. She’s not out of the woods. He rubs a hand over his face and closes his eyes, forcing himself to take a slow, deep breath. 

“I got the keys to one of the rooms, you can shower and I’ll find you something to wear,” she offers, reaching to place a hand on his back and start guiding him toward the room. “Scott and Kira can wait with you.”

“I -- no, I’m gonna --” He swallows heavily. “I’m gonna go home and shower. And I’m gonna grab some of Lydia’s stuff so she has it when she wakes up. Plus -- my pillow.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Scott says immediately. 

“You need to stay here in case she wakes up before I get back, Scott.” His voice is quiet. 

“You can’t go alone,” Scott insists. 

“I need some time to think. To sort out my head.” He rubs a hand over his face. 

Scott hesitates, frowning a little as he looks between his mom and Kira. This just doesn’t feel like a good idea. 

Kira looks just as uncertain. “Stiles, are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?” she tries. 

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I won’t be gone that long.” He glances at Scott and then Melissa. “If anything changes with her, someone will call me?” 

“Yeah,” Scott says quietly, still staring at Stiles worriedly.

He nods, not quite meeting Scott’s eyes. “I’ll be back,” he says quietly. “Stay with her, okay?” 

“She won’t be alone,” he assures him, with every intention of leaving shortly after him.

“Yeah. Okay.” He turns and slowly heads for the door, a sense of grim determination filling him. Jackson Whittemore has to die. 

And Stiles is going to be the one to kill him. 

***

The location spell doesn’t take long to perform, but the rest takes a little bit of prep before he’s ready to go, and when he is, he takes Lydia’s car. His jeep has already been hauled away to the local repair shop. He starts the car engine and backs out of the driveway, his lips pressed into a thin line of pure fury and determination. He’s more in control right now than he’s felt in a long time, because he knows what he’s about to do is something he _has_ to do because it needs to happen. 

He tightens his hands around the steering wheel, driving to the preserve without speeding. The last thing you need when you’re on your way to commit homicide is to get pulled over by the your dad’s department. When he arrives at the preserve, he climbs out of the car, grabs his bag and his baseball bat -- the one he’d spent almost thirty minutes driving nails into -- and starts to walk. 

Jackson picks up on his scent almost the instant he walks into the preserve. His hands are still covered in blood, he knows he really did what he did, and he knows it’s just a matter of time before someone comes after him. So he growls loudly, claws and fangs out, he’s ready to fight.

Stiles is ready for a fight too, and when he spots Jackson approaching him, he reaches into his bag and throws mountain ash into the air, eyes growing darker as it lands around the werewolf in a perfect ring. “I should have killed you years ago,” he informs him. 

The first thing he does when Stiles traps him is push against the barrier, growling loudly as he gets pushed back against the opposite end of it, which causes pain on his back as well as his arm. Jackson growls loudly again, eyes narrowing. “You don’t have what it takes to kill me.”

“You sure about that?” he whispers. And then he swings the bat as hard as he can at Jackson’s kneecap. “You know...some things are worse than instant death. That would be a little too merciful.” He circles Jackson and this time aims for his chest. “Guess I’m all out of that.” 

He hits the ground and barrier hard this time, his body spazzing until he moves away from it but he still can’t get up. He grinds his teeth. “You still-- won’t have-- her.” 

“And you’ll never touch her again, so...good enough for me.” He brings his hardest swing down at Jackson’s groin, eyes flashing white. 

Jackson growls loudly again but this time it’s pained, followed by something that resembles a whimper.

“You should have left town, Jackson.” He circles him again, then moves back to his bag, grabbing the small can of gasoline he’d brought. He splashes it over the werewolf. “Actually you should have never come back at all. But you’ve never been very bright, have you?” 

***

Scott is trying hard to focus on Stiles’ rage-filled scent as he rushed his bike toward the preserve. He isn’t any less angry than Stiles at this point. Not after his mom told him they had to resuscitate Lydia twice because of all the blood she lost. And it hadn’t been hard to pick up Jackson’s scent all over their house’s driveway, so he doesn’t have to guess what’s happening. 

He drops his bike to the ground and rushes into the woods. Between the growls and cries, it’s not hard for him to locate them. 

“Stiles!” He calls out when he sees him splashing Jackson with the liquid.

“I’m doing this, Scott.” His voice is calm, quiet and when he turns his head to look at his friend approaching, his eyes are glowing brighter white than before. 

Scott is thrown by the glowing eyes, but he slowly approaches Stiles. “He’s not worth it.” 

His jaw tightens and he looks down at Jackson. “It’s the only way to make sure he doesn’t come after her again.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. 

“She’s-- _dead_ ,” Jackson coughs, fangs bared. 

“No. But you’re about to be,” he says coldly, igniting the lighter.

“Stiles, stop,” a new voice orders as he approaches the three of them.

He glares in the direction of the newest voice. “You aren’t my alpha, Derek,” he responds, grip tightening on the lighter. 

“No, but I am _his_. I’ll take care of him,” Derek says as he approaches. 

Scott looks from Derek to Stiles, lifting a hand toward the lighter. “Let’s go. We need to get back to Lydia.”

Stiles’s jaw clenches. “He ever lays a foot in this town again, Derek, and you’ll never find all his pieces.” He lets Scott take the lighter from him. 

“You have my word that he’ll be dead before he tried to cross the town limits,” Scott adds to Stiles, then nods at Derek, who nods back. “C’mon.”

His eyes slowly fade back to their normal brown as Scott leads him away from Jackson. 

Scott glances back and sees Derek staring down at Jackson, wondering how he plans on breaking the barrier, but he decides he doesn’t really care. So he focuses on leading Stiles back to where the car and the bike are parked and get him back to the hospital.

“You should have let me kill him, Scott,” he mutters. 

“He steps foot here, I’ll kill him myself,” Scott says, facing forward. “He won’t hurt her anymore, Stiles.”

“I should have killed him in high school,” he whispers. “None of this would have happened.” 

There’s a loud, pained yelp followed by complete silence. Scott pauses, glances back, his jaw clenching a little as he nods before looking back at Stiles.

Stiles still in his tracks and turns his head back toward the direction they’d just come from. He can’t see them, but he’s pretty sure he knows what happened. “Good.” He rubs a hand over his face. 

“Come on,” Scott says again. He doesn’t want to worry Stiles, but he’s more than a little anxious to get back to the hospital. “We’ll stop by the house, you can shower and change, then we’ll head back.”

He draws a slow, deep breath and then nods. “I think I need you to drive, Scott.” He hands over the keys.

“Okay,” he agrees easily, reaching for the keys and unlocking Lydia’s car a moment later. He’ll ask Kira to come pick up the bike with him later. He’s not too worried about it for now.

 

***

The first thing she’s aware of is the very warm weight over her hand. She attempts to turn her hand to touch it, but her arm is too heavy, so her fingers barely twitch instead. Then she realizes her entire body feels heavy. She’s fairly sure she couldn’t move if she tried to. 

Next, Lydia opens her mouth a little. It feels completely dry, like she’s just swallowed sand. Her eyelids are heavy too, but she manages to open her eyes just a slit. It’s bright, but she can’t really make anything around her. Except for the steady beeping sound. Much louder and closer this time.

Stiles is in the seat beside her hospital bed, hand covering hers and head resting on the mattress beside it. It’s been two very long days and she hasn’t woke up and he hasn’t slept. Scott and Kira, his dad and Melissa have all tried to talk him into going home to rest for awhile but he hasn’t left her side since going on the offense with Jackson. He feels her fingers twitch just a little under his and he lifts his head tiredly, eyes widening when he sees her eyes are open -- even if only a little. 

“Lydia? Can you hear me?” 

She turns her head toward his voice, swallowing hard as she squints in his direction. His words sound muffled but she’s fairly sure she knows who it is. “S-iles?”

“Oh thank God.” All the air leaves his lungs in a rush and he quickly presses the nurse call button on her bed, gently reaching up and brushing some hair out of her face. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Lydia sighs softly and leans into his touch, her head pressing heavily into his hand as she finally manages to see his face. “Allison.”

He doesn’t pull his hand away when she leans into him, but he meets her eyes, startled by her response. “Is she -- here?” 

“She was…” Lydia sighs softly, closing her mouth for a moment and swallowing hard again. “With me.”

“ _Oh._ ” He swallows, too, glancing toward the door when Melissa enters the room. “She’s awake.” 

“It’s about time,” Melissa teases gently as she approaches the bed. “You gave us all quite a scare.” She reaches out and takes Lydia’s pulse. 

Lydia smiles a little at Melissa, then looks at Stiles again. “Is there water?” she whispers quietly. 

He quickly picks up his water bottle and pours some into the cup on the nightstand before carefully holding it out to her. “Here.” 

She takes it with a shaky hand and sips on it slowly, coughing slightly then wincing when the area all around her throat feels like it’s on fire. She lowers her hand toward Stiles and leans back against the pillows, closing her eyes.

He takes the cup and sets it back on the stand, glancing worriedly at Melissa. 

“Heartbeat is normal,” Melissa assures him, reaching out and gently stroking some hair back behind Lydia’s ear. “The doctor will want to check you over but then we’ll probably be looking at moving you out of ICU and to a regular room.” 

Lydia frowns at her words, turning to look at Melissa. “ICU?”

“Sweetie, you’ve been out for three days,” she says gently. 

Her eyes widen a little and she looks from Melissa, to Stiles. “What--” she takes a deep breath and tries to focus for a moment. “The jeep.” She can’t clearly remember what happened but she remembers the jeep. And she remembers think it was ruined.

“It’s okay,” Stiles murmurs, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently. 

She squeezes his hand back, keeping her eyes on him. And then her face grows even paler and the heart monitor starts beating faster. “Jackson.”

“Hey, take a slow deep breath, okay? He’s gone. He’s not going to hurt you again. Everything’s gonna be fine now.” Stiles keeps his gaze on her, nodding reassuringly. 

She unconsciously takes a deep breath slowly, holding his gaze. “Did he hurt you? Or Scott?”

“No. I’m fine. Scott’s fine. Everyone’s okay,” he whispers, squeezing her hand gently. 

Lydia lets out a breath, it burns a little but not as bad as coughing, then she relaxes slightly.

He presses his lips against the back of her knuckles, closing his eyes for a moment, and then opens them again and looks at Melissa. “You’re gonna find the doctor?” 

She gives him a nod. “I’ll go track him down.” 

Lydia glances as Melissa leaves then focuses on Stiles again. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” 

“Not everything,” she whispers quietly. “I remember the jeep and I remember Jackson’s face. And--” she lifts a hand to her throat. “I didn’t remember what he did.”

His gaze drops to her neck when she lifts her hand and he swallows heavily. “I don’t know the specifics. I -- woke up when I heard the jeep get flipped but by the time I got down there, Jackson was gone.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, squeezing his hand. For the jeep. For finding her. For scaring him.

“You have no reason to be sorry,” he assures her quietly, hesitating and then sitting down on the edge of her bed. “This isn’t your fault.” 

Lydia tightens her fingers around his hand and looks down at it. “My lawyer said they made a settlement offer, I guess he got pissed.”

He draws in a breath, then shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure you don’t have to worry about him again.” 

Her stomach tightens both because of the look on his face and his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Derek showed up.” He hesitates and looks down. “Right as I was about to kill him.” 

Her eyes just widen in response. She remains quiet for a moment, “Is Jackson--”

He nods silently, tightening his grip on her hand a little. 

“Oh.” Lydia tightens her fingers around his once more as she looks away. Between the drugs in her system and this information, her head is spinning. She has no idea how to feel about it. Part of her is relieved. Part of her is… glad that he can’t hurt anyone anymore. And part of her can’t really comprehend never seeing Jackson again.

He holds his breath as he chances a look at her face. He can’t tell exactly what she’s thinking, or how she’s feeling, but he’s not surprised either. Considering everything, her emotions are bound to be pretty mixed up right now. “Do you want me to stay here? I could -- have Scott come in.” 

“Stay,” she says quietly, looking at him again.

He meets her eyes. “Okay,” he murmurs. 

Lydia holds his gaze for a moment, she swallows hard, which hurts but also encourages her to say what she’s thinking. “I’m glad he can’t hurt anyone else.”

Stiles leans in and presses a soft kiss against her forehead. “Me too.” Mostly he’s glad that Jackson can never hurt _her_ again. 

***

Natalie barely closed the front door after unloading her groceries when she hears a knock. She frowns slightly, checking her phone for a moment before starting back toward the front door when they know again. She frowns harder then reaches to open it, pausing when she sees who it is. “Sheriff.”

“Natalie,” he greets her, voice quiet. “Do you have a few moments?” 

She arches an eyebrow in response. “What is this about? Because last time your _boys_ were here I found them incredibly disrespectful.” Looking for Jackson, she still doesn’t know why, but she assumes the Sheriff’s son is behind it.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says sincerely. “It’s about your daughter. And it’s important.” 

Natalie tenses at that and steps aside, making room for him to come into the house. “What did she do?” And whatever it is, Natalie is sure it’s both Stiles’ and Scott’s fault. It’s always been their fault.

He steps inside and turns to face her, pressing his lips together in a grim line. “She didn’t do anything. But she is hurt,” he tells her. He’d contemplated coming earlier, after it first happened. After talking with Melissa, he’d decided to wait. At least now he could deliver the news that Lydia was going to live. Even yesterday that much hadn’t been certain. 

“Hurt how?” she asks immediately, eyes widening.

“She’s in the hospital.” He pauses. “She’s going to recover, thankfully.” 

“What happened to her?” Natalie demands, already reaching for her purse. “And why didn’t you just call me to come see her?”

“Your son in law almost killed her,” he answers grimly, holding out a DVD. 

“You mean Jackson?” she gasps, eyes wide as she stares at him for a moment before looking down at the DVD. “What is this?” 

“I figured you might want some video evidence.” He looks back at her, expression as close to neutral as he can keep it. “The security camera at our kids’ duplex caught it all on film.” 

Natalie stares at him for a moment. “Where is Jackson?” He’d been staying with her but she hasn’t seen him in days.

“Avoiding prosecution, I presume.” 

Her jaw clenches a little and she starts to the kitchen again, then pops the DVD into her laptop, expecting the Sheriff to follow her.

He does, pressing his lips together and drawing in a slow, deep breath to try and keep his nerves calm.

She takes a moment, watching when Lydia gets into the jeep. Then horrified when Jackson show up and flips it. She’s not expecting anything more than that. And she can’t see much else for a moment. Jackson leaving and then she notices the dark liquid around her daughter’s motionless figured. She gasps and covers her mouth when she sees the Sheriff’s son picking her up and how he instantly seems to be covered in blood, too. “What did he do to her?” She whispers, eyes tearing up.

“Clawed her throat,” he says gravely, meeting her eyes. He’s not without sympathy for her pain. He knows she loves Lydia, even if he doesn’t care for the ways she’s tried to show that love over the years. And not just because the woman in front of him has caused troubles for his son. He loves Lydia, too. And he’s fairly certain that Natalie’s the reason Jackson returned to Beacon Hills. It’s the only thing that adds up. 

“I need to see my daughter,” she says a moment later, her face pale, but there’s also a determination there that wasn’t there before.

His jaw tightens a little. “My son is with her,” he informs her evenly. 

Natalie stares at him for a moment, her own jaw clenching. “I’m her mother, I should have been informed the second this happened.”

“Considering what happened? I’m not sure Lydia would have wanted that.” His words are still even, but the meaning is intentional. “I’m not saying I’m going to stop you from trying to see her. But I am telling you that you need to do some serious soul searching about how best to help your daughter.” 

“What do you _mean_ considering what happened? Lydia was perfectly safe until she came back here and started hanging out with _your_ son again!” She says angrily. She’s worried sick and she just wants to see Lydia and get that boy away from her.

His tone changes the instant she lays the blame at his son’s feet. He points a finger at her. “You really think this is the first time _Jackson_ hurt her? Because I have to see after _years_ of being in law enforcement, _that_ \-- “ He points at her laptop screen. “Doesn’t just happen out of nowhere. And if _you’re_ the one who called him here in a misguided attempt to get her away from one boy who would never do anything to hurt her? Then you’re as much to blame for this as Jackson is.” He glares at her and without waiting for a response, he turns and storms away from her. 

Natalie stares after him, glaring for a moment then taking a deep breath, grabbing her keys and purse and heading straight toward the hospital. 

She only stops by the reception to ask them where her daughter is and heads straight toward the room she’s told. She’s already expecting to have to yell at Stiles to leave but as soon as she pushes the door open, as soon as her eyes fall on Lydia and she realizes how pale and fragile looking she is, Natalie stops in her track. 

Lydia is lying back against her pillows, hand still wrapped around Stiles’. The TV is on but she doesn’t think either one of them are really watching it. She’s still trying to process the fact that Jackson is dead. That he nearly killed her. So when the door just flies open, she sits up a little, surprised and a little scared, so she tightens her grip around Stiles’ hand before letting out a breath when she realizes _who_ it is. 

Stiles jumps too, but then he grows still and makes no move to head for the door. Partially that’s because of how tightly Lydia’s holding onto his hand. He gives her a gentle squeeze of reassurance before meeting Natalie’s gaze. “You feel up to company?” he murmurs just loud enough for Lydia to hear him.

Lydia hesitates, then nods slightly. She wants to ask him to stay, but she knows that wouldn’t really be fair to him. 

“Okay.” He kisses her knuckles softly and reluctantly lets go of her hand. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Literally. Right outside the door, he thinks, rising to his feet. 

“Thank you,” she whispers quietly, holding his gaze. Although she knows her mother won’t intentionally hurt her, she knows how likely she is to unintentionally say something she won’t want to hear right now.

Stiles nods and heads for the door, meeting Natalie’s eyes with an accusatory look on his face as he starts for the hallway. 

Lydia watches him go then sits up against the pillows a little more, trying her best not to move her neck too much. Once she settles, she turns to look at her mother again but remains silent.

“I just found out, Sweetheart. I would have been here sooner.” Natalie hesitates, then slowly approaches the bed. 

“I wasn’t awake,” Lydia admits quietly, keeping her eyes on her. 

“The sheriff didn’t inform me of anything until today.” Her gaze drops. 

“Stiles said it’s been three days,” Lydia tells her quietly. “What else did he tell you?”

Natalie’s silent for a long moment. “That Jackson is responsible.” 

“He almost killed me,” she says, her jaw clenching a little. “I assume that’s what he was hoping for. And he would have succeeded had Stiles not been there.”

“I don’t understand why he’d do this,” she admits quietly. 

Lydia stares at her for a moment, her jaw clenching. She wants to scream at her, but instead, she looks away and takes a deep breath slowly. “Of course you don’t.”

“I thought that he loved you.” There’s guilt in her voice, sadness. 

“Maybe he did at one point,” Lydia shrugs slightly. She prefers to think that he did. She knows she did love him. She’s not sure when that changed, but she’s also not sure she still loved him by the time they got married.

Natalie looks up at her after a moment. “He’ll pay for what he’s done,” she says quietly. 

Lydia meets her gaze at that, a little surprised. “The Sheriff didn’t tell you?”

“I know he’s keeping a low profile. Maybe he’s even skipped town. But he’s not going to get away with what he’s done to you, Sweetheart.” She reaches out and gently tucks some hair behind Lydia’s ear. 

“Jackson is dead, mom,” she whispers quietly, because somehow, she thinks this will hurt her mother more than it’s hurting her.

Natalie’s eyes widen a little at that and she instantly looks over her shoulder toward the door. “Stiles.” She presses a hand to her chest, looking more shocked than anything. 

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Lydia warns her instantly, voice firmer.

She looks back at Lydia, eyes still wide. “No. It’s good. I’m glad he’s dead.” 

Lydia is the one a little shocked this time. She stares at her mother for a moment. She’s always hated Stiles. Like she’s always felt that somehow he could pull her away from Jackson and the life Natalie had planned. “You are?”

Natalie’s eyes fill with tears. “Sweetheart...I’m so sorry. If I’d had any idea…” Her voice grows thick. “After what he’s done, he deserved whatever happened to him.” 

She lets out a breath and nods slightly, looking away. She doesn’t blame her mother, she understands she thought she was doing what was best for her. To save her from having the same unhappy, lonely life she has today. So Lydia just nods slightly in response. 

She brushes her hand over Lydia’s hair gently, as if she’s afraid to touch her and cause her more pain. “Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?” 

“No,” Lydia answers quietly, but doesn’t push her away. “I’ll be okay.”  
“Can I -- stay for awhile? Is that okay with you?” she asks hesitantly. 

Lydia purses her lips together. It’s painful to hear her sound so hesitant. And she knows how guilty she feels. She never called her mother to yell at her about inviting Jackson back to Beacon Hills so he could try to get them back together. But she knows it’s what happened. 

She knows Jackson was staying at the house because her lawyer told her he’d been using her mom’s address as his own. So as much as she doesn’t feel like she’ll ever fully trust her mother again, she nods and shifts on the bed to give her a little more room to sit down. Because despite everything, Lydia knows she meant well.

Natalie’s expression softens and she carefully perches on the edge of the bed, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead as she reaches for her hand. Her chest feels heavy with so many emotions that will take a long time to work through. But right now all that matters to her is that Lydia is there, safe and alive. 

And that means she has a chance to make things right someday. 

***

It’s five days later when Lydia’s doctors all meet and agree she’s doing well enough that she can go home. With a long list of do’s and don’ts in hand, Stiles helps her from the car to the duplex, Scott right in front of him, already unlocking the door. Kira trails behind them, carrying some of the balloons and stuffed animals her friend had acquired over her hospital stay.

Scott and Kira had spent some time cleaning and catching up laundry for the pair while she’d been in the hospital. Kira had insisted on changing the bedsheets on both of their beds, and placed a vase of fresh flowers beside Lydia’s. The two of them had also made up several meals so neither Stiles nor Lydia would have to worry about cooking or even ordering in for awhile. Well, Kira had cooked. Scott had helped with the basics, such as chopping vegetables. 

He smiles a little as he waits for his friends to come inside. “Lyds, do you want to head to your room, or do you want the couch?” 

“Upstairs,” she says quietly, smiling a little. “I miss my bed and I kinda wanna take a shower. I smell like hospital.”

“You smell fine,” Stiles responds, rolling his eyes a little. 

“You feel like you can handle the stairs?” Kira asks anxiously. She quickly glances at Scott and raises her eyebrows. 

“I could carry you,” he offers immediately. 

“I’m okay to walk,” Lydia says, turning to smile softly at both Kira and Scott. “My legs are barely bruised anymore. I’m just gonna be slower than usual.” 

“We’ll take our time,” Stiles tells them, wrapping his arm around her waist and guiding her toward the steps. 

Scott follows closely just in case, placing himself right behind Lydia to catch her if he needed to. 

“I’ll bring up your clothes in a bit,” Kira offers from downstairs.

“Thanks,” Lydia calls back to her, then leans against Stiles’ side and smiles softly up at him before focusing on taking one step at a time.

“Easy does it,” he murmurs, not trying to rush her.

It takes her a while, and her legs are shaking a little when she finally does reach the top of the stairs. She takes a deep breath and nods slightly as she starts toward the bedroom. “Not too hard,” she whispers, mostly to herself.

He disagrees, but he keeps it to himself as he guides her slowly to her bedroom, smiling softly when he sees the vase of flowers. “Almost there.” 

“Remind me to thank Kira,” Lydia says once she sees the flowers. And as much as she wants to go shower, she lets Stiles lead her right to her bed. 

“Just catch your breath a few minutes and then we’ll figure out the shower thing,” he promises. “Deal?” 

Scott watches from the doorway with worried eyes. “You want something to drink? Water or lemonade or something?” 

Lydia nods slightly at Stiles, then smiles softly at Scott. “Water?”

“Yeah of course,” he tells her with a small smile in return. “Be right back.” He turns and heads out the door. 

“Thanks, Scott,” Lydia calls after him as she sits down carefully on the edge of her bed. 

“No problem,” he calls back. 

Stiles eyes Lydia with concern as she sits down. “Want some ice or a heating pad or anything?” he offers. He knows there’s still a couple hours before she can take any pain medication. 

“I’m okay, I just need some time to recover,” she assures him, looking up at him.

“Okay.” He nods and slowly moves to sit down in the chair by her bed. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, keeping her eyes on him as he sits down.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he assures her. He’s glad to be home, too. He’s spent most of the last week at the hospital. The only times he’d left her side is when he’d gone to kick Jackson’s ass, and each time when her mom came by to visit. He’d mostly gone to his dad’s to shower and then come right back. 

“You got next to no rest in the past week,” she points out quietly. Whenever she woke up, he was always there next to her bed.

“I napped,” he assures her. “It’s been a pretty normal week for me, sleep-wise.” 

“On that incredibly uncomfortable chair,” she points out, cocking her head.

“Touche,” he agrees. No sense arguing with that one. There’s no comfortability in a hospital. He’s learned that the hard way over the years -- repeatedly. Seems to be one of the few things that never changes. Ever. 

She smiles a little, then shifts to lean against her pillows. “At least you should get decent sleep tonight.” Now that they’re home and don’t have to worry about being attacked by Jackson anymore.

“Yeah, probably.” He hesitates a second. “I kinda thought I could camp out on your floor in case you needed anything in the middle of the night.” He hopes that doesn’t sound too creepy.

“Oh, I don’t really want you to do that, Stiles,” she says quietly. “I want you to actually be comfortable.” 

“The floor’s way more comfortable than the chair at the hospital,” he offers with raised eyebrows. 

“Yeah, but sharing a bed is still a better option,” she points out. It’d be hardly the first time they’ve done that.

That’s not at all what he thought she was going to say, but the surprise doesn’t show on his face. “Are you sure you feel up to sharing a bed with your injuries?” There’s concern in his voice. He sleeps restlessly most of the time and he’s worried he might flail around and hurt her. 

“Yeah. As long as you don’t elbow my neck, I think I’ll be okay,” she teases, smiling a little.

He chuckles and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I could always sleep at your feet,” he jokes.

“I do miss Prada,” she says, smirking.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Maybe Scott should stay too.” 

“I heard that,” Scott calls out as he rounds the corner. 

She laughs a little, cupping her neck gently as she tries not to let it move too much. 

“Meant for you to,” Stiles informs him with a smirk. 

Scott moves to Lydia’s side and sits down on the edge of the bed, holding the glass of water out. “Actually though, I thought I might crash on your couch tonight. Kira’s got a thing with her parents tonight. Is that okay?” He looks between them. 

Lydia takes the water and nods a little. “Yeah, of course.” 

“We’re a Scott-friendly house,” Stiles adds, reaching out and patting his friend’s shoulder. “You can crash in my bed.” 

“Your bed?” Scott asks, arching his eyebrows.

“Yeah. I’m gonna stay here with Lydia in case she needs something in the middle of the night.” He gives him a look.

“Oh, okay,” Scott agrees, nodding slightly.

He relaxes, glancing over at Lydia. “We could watch a movie or something if you’re up to it later.” 

“Yeah, we can do that,” she agrees, sipping on her water carefully. “I don’t know how long any of us will be awake for it, but we can try.” 

“I give myself five minutes,” Scott says, smiling softly.

“Forty-five,” he tells them. 

“Depends what kind of pain killers I’ll have taken by that point,” Lydia admits, shrugging a shoulder. “Could be all of thirty seconds.”  
He suppresses a smile at that. “You need your rest anyway.” 

“We all do,” Lydia points out, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“Yeah, maybe we should skip the movie until tomorrow,” Scott suggests.

“Spoil sports,” he tells them, rising to his feet and stretching his arms over his head. 

“Someone has to be responsible in this pack,” Scott says. “Are you guys hungry? Kira and I can bring stuff upstairs before she leaves.”

His stomach growls as soon as Scott mentions food. “I guess I can’t say no now.” He shakes his head and looks at Lydia. 

“I’m a little hungry,” she agrees. “But I should probably stick to liquids for a while?” she says, turning to Stiles for confirmation. He talked to the doctor a lot more than she did.

“Yeah, soup is probably best for now. Oh, but maybe some toast. And jello.” 

“I think I’ll stick with soup,” she says, smiling a little. She’s a little hesitant about anything else.

“We have soup! I’ll be back soon,” Scott announces as he gets up and starts out of the room.

Stiles watches her for a moment before moving over and sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her. “You want to try the shower thing?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” she says quietly, taking a slow, deep breath as she sits up a little.

He chews his lower lip and winds his arm around her waist to help her up. “You feel like you can stand up long enough?” There’s worry in his voice. She’s spent most of the week in bed and not eating a lot. She has to be weak.

“Yeah. I’ll just need help with the bandages, I think,” she admits as she leans into him and pushes herself up. 

“I can do that,” he assures her, pressing her to his side so he can better support her. 

She leans into him for a moment, then stills. “Let me stand on my own,” she says quietly, glancing up at him.

Stiles meets her eyes, and then nods slightly, slowly pulling away from her so she can do just that. He doesn’t move too far away from her, though, just in case. 

Lydia takes a deep breath and straightens her back, nodding a little. Her legs definitely feel weak still but nothing too different from after a hard workout. “I’ll be okay,” she assures him, smiling a little as she starts toward her bathroom.

“Okay.” He hesitates. “Do you want me to -- the bandages.” 

“I think I’ll keep them while I shower, but after, I’ll need to change them,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

“All right. I’ll be --” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder as he backs away a couple steps. “Knock or something if you need anything.” 

“I will. Thanks, Stiles.” She says sincerely, looking at him for a moment before reaching to close the door.

“You’re welcome.” He watches the door close and then exhales, leaning back against the wall. 

She doesn’t take nearly as long as she’d have liked in the shower. Her legs start to shake and as she’s washing her hair, she needs to lean against the wall for a few moments before finishing with the conditioner. But she makes it. She manages to half dress herself before she sits down over the closed toilet lid for a few moments. When breathing starts to feel like burning, she knows she needs some time. 

Once she feels like she’s calmed down enough, she pulls on her tank top and slowly stands up again. With a deep breath, she reaches for the soaked bandages and starts pulling them off slowly. 

At first, she leans closer to the mirror and pays attention to how she’s healing. But as she pulls away and sees the three bright red, angry marks on her skin, she stills. Instantly she remembers Jackson leaning in, eyes bright blue but all she remembers seeing in them was rage. She remembers the feeling of his claws digging into her skin. She remembers trying to plead with him and feeling the warm blood covering her hands and her chest. 

Her face crumbles as she lifts a hand to touch the scars. They aren’t going away. Not anymore than the ones on her side from Peter did. But somehow, this hurts _more_. Because it was Jackson who gave them to her. She _trusted_ Jackson. At some point, she loved him. 

Lydia doesn’t notice how badly her legs are shaking until she stumbles back. With a gasp, her back hits the wall behind her and she doesn’t even fight it as she slides down to the ground. Her whole body is starting to shake as she cries hard. A sob escapes her and she feels like her throat is being ripped open all over again.

He hears a thud from where he’s sitting on the floor and he quickly turns his head toward the bathroom door, but for a moment he doesn’t move. Until he hears the soft, unmistakable sound of crying. He scrambles to his feet and moves to the door, knocking. “Lydia? Are you okay?” Anxiety floods his veins as he waits for her response and he’s already reaching for the door knob, afraid she’s fallen and hurt herself. 

If she could manage to pull her knees up to her chest, she would have. Instead, her legs are stretched out in front of her and when she hears the door opening, all she can do is lift her hands to cover her face. It’s instinct. She knows how she looks. Her hair is a wet, tangled mess. Her face hasn’t seen make up in over a week. And the scars… she sobs again and it’s followed by a wince, but as she takes a deep breath to try and calm herself down, it just makes everything hurt even more. 

“Lydia? Lydia, hey. What happened?” He crosses the bathroom floor, relieved she’s dressed already. “Did you fall?” His eyes are wide and he sits down as close to her as the confined space will allow. 

The logical part of her that still seems to be aware of her surroundings shakes her head slightly. She knows she’s worrying him, but she just wishes she could _scream_ and break something and-- find a way to hurt Jackson and let out all her anger on him. She keeps her hands over her face, though. “I hate him,” she whispers eventually through clenched teeth.

It’s not what he’s expecting to hear, but he holds his breath, shifting a little closer and resting a hand gently on her ankle. He doesn’t really know how to respond to that, because she certainly has every right to hate him. But it seems like anything he could say to her would sound condescending, so he just squeezes her ankle gently to let her know he’s there and listening. 

“I hate that he’s dead,” she whispers angrily, keeping her head lowered as she drops her hands to her lap and curls them into fists. 

He looks down at that, too, knowing full well that if Derek hadn’t shown up when he had, he himself would have killed him. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“He managed to get away with _everything_ ,” she adds, sniffing and finally lifting her head to look at Stiles, tears rolling down her face freely now. “And I’m never going to be able to forget him. Every time I look in the mirror--” she sobs, closing her eyes as she clenches her jaw tightly.

“Come here,” he whispers, holding his arms out toward her, heart breaking for her.

She lifts her head slightly, looking at Stiles for a moment before looking away and shaking her head slightly. “It’s my fault,” she adds quietly.

“How do you figure?” he asks just as quietly. 

“I shouldn’t have gotten back together with him,” she answers quietly. “I shouldn’t have gone to LA. I should have left for--” she pauses, sniffling as she tries to hold back a sob. “I got into MIT during my junior year at UCLA. I didn’t tell him. I should have just-- _left_. I shouldn’t have married him. I should have listened to you,” she whispers, sobbing again as her shoulders drop and she lifts her hands to her face once again.

He closes his eyes for a moment and then carefully wedges himself between her and the sink, wrapping his arm around her and tugging her close to him as gently as he can. “This isn’t your fault,” he whispers, lifting his hand to stroke her hair. “Listen to me. You didn’t cause this. You didn’t make this happen, Lydia. Okay? This was --” He swallows hard. “This isn’t on _you._ ” 

Lydia turns into him, bending her legs a little as she leans her head heavily against his shoulder. “I should have listened to Allison,” she adds after a long moment of silence.

His eyebrows furrowed a little. “What did she say?” 

“In my dreams, over the years…” she sighs softly, closing her eyes. “We would be talking and she’d ask me ‘you’re not seriously still with Jackson, are you?’,” Lydia whispers. “I thought it was just a dream but…”

“But now you’re not so sure,” he finishes, resting his head against hers. 

She lets out a breath and leans against him a little more, then wraps an arm around his stomach. She knows she doesn’t need to confirm it. He knows she’s real as well as she does. 

He rubs her back absently, closing his eyes. Whether Allison had been hanging around Lydia all this time is something he doesn’t have the answer to. It could just as easily be Lydia’s subconscious telling her what she knows Allison would have said. Allison hadn’t been a fan of Jackson’s, and she’d been even less a fan of Jackson _with_ Lydia. He wishes for a moment -- and not for the first time -- that things had turned out so much differently. That Allison had lived through the Nogitsune’s chaos. He thinks if she had, none of this ever would have happened at all. 

“He was manipulative,” he murmurs. “People like that know what they’re doing. Know how to make you vulnerable enough that you feel like you don’t have a choice but to stay.” 

“I thought I’d see through him.” She shakes her head slightly as she opens her eyes. “That I’d be smarter than him.”

He gently slides a finger under her chin so she’ll look up at him. “You are. You always have been. But...when it comes to matters of the heart, we don’t always see things clearly.” He knows all too much about that. 

Lydia lifts her head and looks up at him, holding his gaze for a moment as she purses her lips together. “I should never have left the pack,” she whispers quietly, her eyes tearing up once again. 

“You’ve always been part of the pack.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, catching one of her tears. “You’re always going to be part of the pack.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. 

She believes as much. She has all the proof that she needs when the three of them are here to help her right now, after all this time. But she knows she checked out. She knows she distanced herself from them. And she knows it was all because of Jackson. As much as she wants to blame him, though, she also knows it was her choice to let him do that to her. Manipulative or not. “I just want to forget him. To forget all the time I wasted on him,” she adds quietly, closing her eyes again as she leans against Stiles once more. 

He rests his head against hers again. “You know, I think that might be something I can actually help you with. If there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s staying very very busy to avoid things I don’t want to think about.” He’d done it for over five years in D.C. 

“That sounds good,” she whispers quietly. Part of her wants to do this alone. Most of her feels like she’s been alone long enough as it is. And she knows Stiles. She knows he’ll give her room to stand on her own if she needs it. And he’ll be there for her if she needs him to pull her back on her feet, too. 

***

It doesn’t take a full five minutes for Scott to be passed out on his best friend’s bed, face buried in the pillow. He doesn’t even manage to cover himself up before he’s out like a light, exhausted from the last week’s events and all the time he’s spent at the hospital. He shivers a little unconsciously. 

When the blankets are pulled up around him, he doesn’t notice, but his body relaxes into the mattress as the shivering ends with the warmth. 

An unseen hand gently brushes through his hair, and Allison smiles softly before vanishing once more.


	12. Chapter 12

**Six Months Later**

The ceremony had been simple and relatively small, but everyone that mattered was there. Lydia is actually surprised her mom showed up, but she’s been trying hard to make an effort lately. Which, without Jackson’s poison between them has been something Lydia can appreciate. 

By the time she makes it into the reception, most people are already there. Settled on their designed seats and she’s happy to see appetizers are already being served. 

It only takes her a moment before she locates Stiles standing by their seats on the center table. She adjusts her bouquet in her hand and starts toward him. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He smiles softly at her, reaching up to adjust his bowtie, and then shifting to pull her chair out for her so she can sit down. “Have I mentioned today that you...look stunning?” Because he can’t look at her without thinking it. 

“Thank you,” she says as she pulls her soft pink dress’ long skirt to the side carefully before sitting down. Her face brightens at his words and she stares up at him for a moment. “Yeah. But I don’t mind you being repetitive.”

He sits down beside her. “That’s good because...you are definitely the most beautiful woman in this room. No offense to the bride.” He glances across the room to where Kira and Scott are dancing, gazing intently at one another. 

She can feel her face getting warm, so even as she grins softly at him, she glances at the newlyweds, watching them for a moment. “I don’t think Mrs. McCall cares about your opinion in the matter, Stiles.”

He grins involuntarily at that. “Probably not,” he agrees, reaching out and draping his arm around her shoulders. “They look really good together.” 

Lydia leans into him a little and smiles at him for a moment before looking out to the dance floor once again. “They do. I’m so glad everything went smoothly.”

“Thanks, largely in part, to us,” he says good-naturedly. They’d worked their butts off to make sure nothing went wrong. 

“Well, it _was_ our job as best man and maid of honor,” she points out, gently elbowing him.

“Oh, I know. Just saying. We rock.” He winks at her. 

“That I can agree with,” she admits, smiling at him before sitting up again. “And now that I’ve rested my feet some, are you going to ask me to dance or what?”

He turns his head to look at her, humor dancing in his eyes as he rises to his feet and holds his hand out to her. “Lydia, do you wanna get off that cute little ass and dance with me?” 

Lydia slides her hand into his and grins softly as she cocks her head. “I’m fairly sure you said that to me before, but I can’t remember… Winter formal?”

“Good memory,” he teases, leading her toward the dance floor.

“I don’t think there were a lot of other opportunities for you to say that to me. And I’m very impressed we both remember that,” she comments, squeezing his hand gently.

“Hey, we’re not that old,” he points out, squeezing her hand affectionately and resting his other hand on her hip. “Yet, anyway.” 

Lydia turns to face him completely and lifts her hands to his shoulders, eyes on his. “I still think that dancing once in twenty five years is still a weird ratio.”

He’s pretty sure she’s danced more than that, even though it’s not been with him. “We haven’t really had other opportunities, to be fair.” 

“That’s true. But now we do,” she points out as she steps closer to him unconsciously. Because being close to Stiles is just second nature these days.

“Now we do,” he agrees quietly, not minding the closeness. The song switches to something slower but distantly familiar. It takes him a moment to recognize it and when he does, his gaze flicks to where Scott’s standing with Kira by the DJ and he gives him a look. Scott just grins at him. 

Lydia keeps her eyes on his face, cocking her head when his eyes narrow. She glances at Scott and Kira, then back at Stiles. “What did I miss?”

His cheeks grow warm as he looks back at her, small, sheepish smile on his face as he shakes his head. “This was actually...the same song from the formal. That we danced to when we were sophomores.” 

“Oh…” She glances back at the couple and smiles, shaking her head slightly at them before looking back at Stiles for a moment. She just moves slowly with him as she thinks back to that night. “I guess that was a first of many times when I should have just stayed with you.” There’s no bitterness in her voice. If there is anything she’s accomplished in the last six months, it’s definitely getting over Jackson. Getting over what he did to her. Getting over the fact that she’s lost years of her life on him. Because she knows how lucky she is to have made it out. And to have survived. 

Stiles shifts closer, resting his hand on the small of her back. “I don’t look it at that way. For the record.” 

She pulls her hands higher, behind his neck and links her fingers together. “How do you see it?” 

“That it was the beginning of a really amazing friendship. It just took some time.” And a lot of pain for both of them.

Her face softens and she nods a little, holding his gaze. “I’m glad we made it.”

“Me too.” He leans his forehead against hers. 

She brushes her nose against his lightly and keeps her eyes on his as much as she can. Part of her wants to lean and press her lips to his. It’s something that has been happening more and more lately. 

“You know,” he begins softly, not unaware of how she brushes her nose against his. “You were the first girl I ever danced with.” 

Her heart skips a beat at how softly his words sound. At how close they are. And at what he says. She forces herself to pull away slightly. But just enough to look at him. “I was?”

He smiles, eyes full of warmth as he nods. “Yeah. And...I’m pretty sure you already know this part, but...you were also the first girl I ever had a crush on.” 

“Stiles…” she says quietly, smiling softly at him. She doesn’t really know what to say to that. She knows she loves him. And she knows _how_ she loves him. But-- it’s not something she’s sure they’re ready for. 

“And the first...and only...woman I’ve ever loved,” he admits softly. He draws in a breath, holding her gaze. 

Her eyes tear up a little at the words. She cups his face in one of her hands and searches his eyes. There are a million things she wants to say to him, but she doesn’t manage to say anything at all.

“Come here,” he whispers, leaning in and kissing her forehead. He tugs her closer to him, resting a hand on the back of her neck gently as they slowly move in time with the music. “I just wanted you to know that no matter how crazy things get, or how bad things have been...you’re always going to have someone who loves you unconditionally.” 

Lydia shifts her arms and wraps them around his back as she shifts closer. She gives him a slight nod, then tiptoes and presses her lips to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers quietly as she pulls away to look at him again, but keeps her arms wrapped tightly around him as they move. “I love you too, Stiles.” 

He smiles softly, resting his head against hers. “I know.” 

She smiles back at him and although her eyes tear up more, she sighs contently. Because she knows he means everything he just said to her. He means everything he says to her. And she feels like even though she’s not ready to take that next step just yet, he’ll still be there when she is in the near future.


End file.
